The Courtship of Princess Ross
by Eysabelle Perfume
Summary: Technically, they're still married. But if Everett wants Shuri back, he's got to agree to her conditions: he must live in Birnin Zana, he must win over the tribal council, and he must court Shuri - chastely. The title is a nod to the 1943 movie, Princess O'Rourke, in which a princess falls in love with an American pilot. Also: Shuri is 27.
1. Lovers on the Bridge

The kissing was good. No, the kissing was sublime. They had never done this before, necking in public like a couple of teenagers. On the Chain Bridge, even under cover of the night, neither of them dared to so much as cop a feel, so they kissed it out instead, slowly, lusciously, savoring each other as if just finding out about each other.

"Come home with me," Everett murmured when they came up for air.

Shuri moaned in regret. "I cannot."

"Please, Shuri. Come on. Let's go. We can be in my bed in less than seven minutes."

"Stop tempting me."

"Now why would I want to do that?"

"Because I have things to do tomorrow. And because this is how we got into trouble in the first place. Remember? Bedding each other before we even knew each other?"

"Give me a pop quiz. I've been studying you for the past three years."

"Do you mean to say you can tell me everything you have learned about me in only seven minutes?"

"Ten minutes," he said. "I'll drive slowly."

She laughed in delight at his audacity. "You are incorrigible."

"And you are irresistible."

"That may well be, but I am afraid you _must_ resist me. I have no intention of going home with you tonight."

"If that's the case, if you really weren't meaning to start something, then why did you wear this little dress?"

"Ah, so you remembered. I was lucky to even find it. You did rather destroy the first one."

"I promise I won't destroy this one. I'll slide it from your shoulders gentle as anything. I'll even hang it up before -"

"Before?"

"Honestly, right now what I want more than anything is for you to ride my face wearing nothing but these boots. How did you ever get these on? They're like a second skin on you."

"Invisible zippers up the back."

"Oh..."

"When the boots come off, they leave lines up the backs of my legs, like the seams in a pair of stockings."

"Jesus, Shuri ... I am in honest-to-God pain right now. Let's go, please, okay?"

"I feel for your pain, truly I do, but you will have to tend to it yourself tonight."

"Only if you're there to watch."

"Everett!"

"My God, I've missed you. I've missed your laugh, and I've missed your scent, and I've missed this strand of baby hair that curls in the opposite direction of all your other baby hair. I've missed you. All of you. Every inch of you. Every taste and sound and texture of you."

"Such sweet words. Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Of course I am. Try to keep up. Have you missed me, my princess? Please tell me you have. Even if you have to lie."

"I do not have to lie. I have missed you, my Everett. I have missed this dimple, and I have missed the way your voice drops when you want me, and I have missed the way you hold my hips as you are holding them now. As you say, I have missed all of you, every inch of you. Every taste and sound and texture."

"Then come home with me."

"Do you think if you keep asking my answer will change? Take me back to your coffee house at once. I must gather the Dora Milaje and return to my hotel."

"Cruel woman. When will I see you again?"

"When you come to Wakanda. The new airport is open, you know. There is a direct flight from Berlin."

"And you'll see me if I come?"

"Of course. We are married, after all."

"And then?"

"And then," she said, "you will court me in the time-honored fashion ... chastely, and with deference to my station, my family, and the tribal council."

"Wait, what?"

"Are you not up to it?" Shuri asked. "Very well. Stay in Budapest. I am sorry to have wasted your time."

"Shuri ..."

"Everett?"

"I'll book my ticket first thing tomorrow."


	2. Never Again Is What You Swore

Thembeka and Mthobeli were diplomatically silent on the trip back to the hotel. The two Dora Milaje had been Princess Shuri's personal guards for seven years. It was they who had been called back home when she was cut out, and they who had returned to her service after her hearing by the tribal council. They were devoted and loyal, but they could not protect her from the gossip, censure, and sometimes even open mockery of the Royal Court ( _Princess Ross_ , some of them called her, scornfully, behind her back). Thembeka and Mthobeli would tense at hostile glances, ready to protect their Princess if need be; but glances could not physically wound, and so they did nothing.

For three years they traveled the world with her and witnessed other indignities inflicted upon her because of her ethnicity, her gender, her age. Their Princess bore up with strength and dignity. She used her intelligence and her sense of humor to shift perceptions, to defuse hostility, even to soothe egos bruised by her mere existence. They were both proud of her conduct, but they had no illusions as to her happiness. There were nights they heard her sobbing behind her closed door, or cursing, or breaking dishes. The Royal Court took its toll, as did the outside world.

Why she would return to this city, this very hotel suite, and seek out the man who had caused her such grief, was a mystery to them. On the way back to the hotel they observed her as minutely as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Her eyes shone, and her step was light ... almost a dance. But at least she was alone. So perhaps the situation was under control, and their Princess would draw no more vexations to herself on account of that man.

* * *

 _Shuri came to on the ship, half an hour before landing. Disoriented, and with a throbbing headache, she blinked at her mother and wondered if she had overslept. "Mama, what time is it?"_

 _"My baby," Ramonda said, smiling gently so as not to overwhelm her child with her own relief. "It is so good to see you."_

 _"What is going on? Why are we flying?" She tried to sit up, but gave it up as a bad job. "We are flying, aren't we?"_

 _"Yes, my dear. We are flying home."_

 _"Where have we been?"_

 _"Budapest," she said, trying to sound casual._

 _The name unlocked her memories. They opened like a series of doors to interconnecting rooms, quick as a flock of fluttering wings, and they ended with Everett packing, Everett being hateful. A bloom of color and pain made her wince._

 _"Did he strike me?" she asked, meaning, of course, Everett. Had he struck her?_ Would _he strike her? She couldn't remember, and she didn't know._

 _"No. But Agent Ross -"_

 _"Who struck me?"_

 _"Nobody struck you, my dear. Your head struck the table as Agent Ross covered you. And the man who shot Agent Ross -"_

 _"Mmm!" she said, brow furrowed. "No more talk for now, please, Mama. My head hurts so."_

 _"Agent Ross is not badly wounded."_

 _Shuri squeezed her eyes shut tight._

 _"I thought you would like to know." Subtle note of confusion in her mother's voice._

 _Shuri refused to respond. She focused solely on the ache in her head. Her thoughts wandered, but she brought them back sternly to the simple fact of physical pain. She didn't want anything else to matter - not that somebody had shot Everett, not that he was not badly wounded, not that she couldn't remember anything past Everett packing, Everett being hateful._

* * *

Back in the hotel suite, Shuri tapped a Kimoyo bead and scrolled through tomorrow's itinerary. She was interrupted by an incoming call from Tilelli, her secretary, who was in the next room.

"You are up late," Shuri said.

"As if I could sleep until I heard your report! How did it go?"

"I was bored stiff. Why must nationalist operas be so unrelentingly _butch_?"

"That is not what I was talking about and you know it!"

Shuri sighed. "He has grown a beard."

"Is it an unrelentingly butch beard?"

"Tilelli, go to bed! We have an early start tomorrow."

"Good night, Princess."

Shuri took off her bracelet of Kimoyo beads and her tiara and placed them on the table. It was late. She should go to bed. But she knew sleep would be impossible.

She paced the suite. Book his ticket tomorrow, would he? Well and well. Either he was deeply out of touch with the difficulty of obtaining a visa to enter Wakanda or he still had some political pull of which she was unaware. She might have offered him a lift to Birnin Zana. She still could. But no. He could go through official channels if he really wanted to see her. She was not running afoul of the tribal council on this.

She stopped pacing and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "You just want to make him suffer," she said. As if she had not suffered. As if she did not feel she were still on probation. Let him suffer for her sake, if he wanted.

She glanced at her dress. How much more obvious could she have been, wearing this dress?

He could suffer that way, too.

She found herself chewing the artificial nail of her right index finger. What on earth had possessed her to have her manicurist put those damned things on? They made everything so awkward. Perhaps she had intended them to act as panther claws, to give her a psychological edge. The fact was, she was trembling, which she only noticed when she stopped pacing. Back to pacing, then.

Three years. She had not seen him for three years. And he made her tremble. What was he playing at, making her tremble like that? How long had they stood kissing on that bridge? She had never had her mouth so gently, so thoroughly, so consideringly despoiled.

What was she doing, trembling over an old man? Great Bast, he was nearly 50! He had more grey in his hair now, but so much of red, and gold, and brown in his beard (which was soft and tickling, which smelled ever so faintly of sandalwood). Old, and a barista. Her husband was a _barista_. So the CIA had not wanted him back. Or had he not wanted the CIA back?

Three years. She had grown strong in three years. She could say no to him.

"And who are you trying to convince, woman? You have spent three years of your life living without reference to this man. What is it about him that the sight of him turns you into a stupid lustful girl? What a fool you are to return to this folly. What a fool to invite him back into your country and back into your life."

(She was strong. She could say no to him. But how much sweeter it would be to say yes.)


	3. Masturbation Fantasy 1

Shuri stops pacing. She turns her attention to the plush, red velvet armchair near the full length mirror. Her imagination sees him sitting there. His hair, with more grey in it, is also slightly longer, slightly less meticulously arranged. His face is leaner, and, of course, bearded. He's wearing faded blue jeans with the knees going soft and grey, and a plain white T-shirt. He must be going to a gym regularly, because she doesn't remember him being so lean. She doesn't remember his arms being so cut.

"Not bad for an old man," she says.

"Come over here." She can hear his voice clearly. She smiles and shakes her head.

"You stay over there and I'll stay over here. I don't trust either of us right now."

What had he said on the bridge? "I'm in honest-to-God pain right now."

"You had better take care of it, then," she says. "Just as I'm going to take care of myself. You would like to watch that, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally. And you'd like to watch me," he says.

"Naturally."

She imagines his hand on the zipper of his jeans. He pulls it down slowly. Slow tease. Pulling out his cock and balls, adjusting the waistband of his boxer briefs so that it's pressing against his perineum and pushing his cock and balls up and out. His cock is a deep blush, thick and veined and hard. She has not been with another man who is circumcised, so that is his. It belongs wholly to him. The head is almost purple. Wet wells from the slit in the tip. His eyes half lidded, he licks his lips.

She slides the dress from her shoulders. She shimmies out of her panties.

"You like the boots?"

"I like the boots."

"Then I will leave them on for you."

She kneels down on the floor before the armchair, legs spread wide. She can feel the stretch in her inner thighs. Her vulva is swollen and hot and so wet. Her right hand slides down from the center of her chest, to her belly, to her vulva. Her own touch is almost shockingly delicious.

"You want a taste? Here, I'll taste for you." She slides two wet fingers into her mouth and sucks. He watches her, pulling his cock, sensual slow strokes. She imagines the feel of him, the warm velvet skin slipping over that hard core. Her right hand returns to her vulva, the other hand cupping her left breast, thumb and forefinger kneading her nipple.

"But what if I'm a right-breast man?" he asks, just to cause trouble.

She laughs. "You will learn to be a left-breast man if you want to be with me."

She rocks against her hand, remembering him, watching him, feeling him, wanting him. She can conjure his breathing, his gasping, his greedy eyes. And she knows, she knows as surely as she knows her name, that in his apartment, in his bed, he is conjuring her as she has conjured him. She knows that he sees her the way she sees him. She knows that his strokes grow urgent and more urgent, as hers grow urgent and more urgent, until perfect as only a fantasy can be perfect, they cry out together, come together.

She slumps forward on the floor, weakened by the aftershocks of her orgasm. When she glances up between the tangle of her braids she sees an empty chair, and she smiles.

"See you soon," she says.


	4. Don't Want No More of the Crying Game

_She spent one day in the infirmary, just to be on the safe side. She spent two more days curled up tightly in her mother's bed, scarcely speaking, scarcely allowing her mother to speak, sitting up only to allow her mother to spoon soups and stews into her mouth. The food was good. She wasn't so far gone that she couldn't appreciate it. But there didn't seem to be much point in being awake for anything_ but _food._

 _The fourth day, her mother brought her a manila envelope postmarked Vienna. Shuri rose, bathed, and dressed. She ate a bowl of savory grains. She drank a cup of coffee. She opened the envelope, skimmed the documents, asked her mother for a pen, and signed them. She put the documents into the return envelope_ he _had graciously provided, the better to expedite their return._

 _"Shuri?" Ramonda said._

 _"Divorce papers. May I have more coffee?"_

 _"I am sorry about the divorce."_

 _"I am not."_

 _"Daughter, you misjudge him."_

 _"No. I think I judge him with amazing precision."_

 _Ramonda sighed. With a tone verging on desperation, she said, "Shuri, Agent Ross saved your life by marrying you."_

 _Shuri made a disgusted sound. "Bast give me strength! What are you talking about, Mother?"_

 _"I_ asked _him to marry you. I_ begged _him to. And I made him swear-"_

 _"Oh. Oh." Shuri shook her head in disbelief. "Why? Why would you do - Mother, why in the name of the ancestors would you_ do _such a thing? What have I ever done to deserve this?"_

 _Tears glittered in Ramonda's eyes. "Daughter, please hear me."_

 _"Have I a choice?"_

 _"I thought he loved you. I thought you loved him. I thought you were each other's destiny."_

 _"Please, let there be no more talk of destiny! Mother, I know you did - what ever it was you did because you believed it would protect me. But that man is a liar and a spy and a snake. He overheard you when you told me the story of Shuri and Alexander Keats. He planned it all."_

 _"He planned nothing."_

 _"He is no relation to Alexander Keats, Mother. He confessed it himself."_

 _"If he believes that, then he is wrong. He is the great-nephew of Alexander Keats."_

 _"How would you even know?"_

 _Sheepishly, Ramonda said, "I bought a subscription to yourancestors dot com and researched him."_

 _"Oh, Mother. When did you even have_ time _to do that?"_

 _"After the battle. Before the banquet."_

 _"All right. Fine. He is related to Alexander Keats. That doesn't change what_ he _believes. And it certainly doesn't prove that he didn't plan this."_

 _"Child, he did not, he could not, plan the influence of his destiny map on yours."_

 _"Now destiny maps. Of course. Why is everybody around me intent upon manipulating my life?"_

 _"Intent upon preserving your life. Do you honestly think I could bear to lose you? You, my daughter?"_

 _Shuri wanted to say "You're doing a wonderful job of losing me right now." But when she saw the real anguish in her mother's face, she bit back the retort. She made herself remember what her mother had suffered during these past several weeks. And so when she spoke again, she made her voice gentle, her tone light and teasing._

 _"Mother, if you must meddle with me, will you please have the courtesy of telling me next time? So that I may make an informed decision and not make an utter fool of myself? Especially if it involves another marry-or-die scenario?"_

 _Ramonda laughed through her tears, and Shuri congratulated herself on making the effort. "I promise, my daughter."_

* * *

 _And she asked her mother to call for T'Challa._

 _T'Challa had wanted to see her the moment she returned to Birnin Zana, but Shuri made her mother promise to keep him away. She wasn't afraid of him, or angry at him. She knew, intellectually, that seeing him, just being with him, would ease her painful heart. But she was tender and ashamed and wouldn't allow herself the medicine of his presence._

 _He was dressed casually when he came into their mother's room, in soft, comfortable fabrics that soothed Shuri's eye. Without a word, he embraced her and held her. That hug achieved what all Ramonda's motherly attentions - and interferences - couldn't. Shuri's reserve shattered, and she pressed her face into her brother's chest and bawled like a hurt child._

 _"Oh, baby sister. Oh, baby sister," he said, patting her back gently. "Get it all out. It's all right. It's all right."_

 _After a few minutes, he sat her down on the bed and brought over a box of tissues. She blew her nose loudly, repeatedly, while T'Challa dabbed the tears from her face. At last, she drew a long, shuddering breath and let it out again. She glanced up at her brother through wet eyelashes, sighed, and leaned her head heavily against his arm._

 _"So much for marriage," she said._

 _"I am so sorry, sister. I should have counseled you to wait."_

 _"I would not have listened to you."_

 _"I know."_

 _"And you would be saying 'I told you so' now if you had."_

 _"Never," he replied, his tone scoffing. "You should know me better than that."_

 _She glanced up at him. "I do. I am sorry."_

 _"Tch! Well you should be."_

 _Shuri smiled. It was comforting to hear his teasing voice. But her heart grew heavy again._

 _"Why does everybody around me insist upon lying to me? Am I so weak, so stupid, that I cannot be trusted with the truth?"_

 _"I do not lie to you, sister, and I never will."_

 _"But Mother, and - that man, and even Baba! Why did Baba do it, Brother? How could he? How could he leave that child? Can you imagine how different things might have been, if only he had brought our cousin home to us?"_

 _"Yes. I imagine it nearly every hour of every day."_

 _"And now I feel as if our lives, all our lives, are built on nothing but lies and deceptions and omissions. We are a family of liars. We are an entire nation of liars, hiding in our superiority and our wealth."_

 _"I will_ never _lie to you, Shuri. I will_ never _lie to my people. The truth is a hard road, but I will walk it, and I know you will walk it with me."_

 _She thought of the tribal council. "If I am allowed to. What happens now? May I stay? Will there be a hearing?"_

 _His voice neutral, T'Challa said, "The tribal council know that you have returned. They know that you are seeking a divorce. They will hear your appeal this afternoon, if you feel strong enough to face them so soon."_

 _Shuri shuddered. "Bast. I might as well get it over with. How much must I grovel before them?"_

 _"A bit," T'Challa admitted. "Shuri, I suspect that I am the true cause of their anger, for going to the United Nations. But I suspect that they are afraid to direct their anger at me, and so they choose the lesser affront and direct their anger at you instead."_

 _"Afraid? Why?"_

 _"Oh, many reasons. For one, they may fear that I doubt their loyalty."_

 _"Because of our cousin?"_

 _"Yes. Because of our cousin."_

 _Shuri sighed and examined her fingers. "I have been thinking a lot these past three days. I have been wondering why I did what I did. And I think perhaps I was running away from all of this - from Baba, and our cousin, and W'Kabi - all of it. I do not understand. I cannot even imagine understanding. So I ran away to_ him _, and I hid in_ him _. And I did not even understand who or what he was."_

 _"Who is he, sister? What is he?"_

 _"Another liar. I gave up everything for a liar."_

 _"I have observed, out there in the wider world, that there are men who will behave honorably toward other men, but behave despicably toward women. It is a side of their personalities that men seldom see. Is Agent Ross such a man? If I am to have future dealings with him-"_

 _"Do not have future dealings with him! He called you a fool. He called Mother a fool. He is a liar and a spy and you must not trust him. Promise me you will not, brother. Please, promise me."_

 _"I promise you. Have no fear, Shuri."_

 _"I believe you," she said. And she was grateful._


	5. Coffee In Berlin With Sharon

"You help Steve Rogers and you get promoted. I marry a princess and I get fired. How does that even work?"

"If you ask me, pretty darned skippy."

"Were you always this insubordinate?"

She laughed. "Yeah, right. Don't you even _remember_ what you used to be like? But now that I haven't worked for you for five years -"

"Three."

"Three years, and now that you look like a bum -"

"I look like a _bum_?"

"Comparatively speaking, yeah, you really do. Happily, you don't smell like one. What have you been doing with yourself since the shortest celebrity marriage of 2015? Lemme guess ... you're writing a novel."

"No. Look, Sharon, I hate to stem the flow of your sarcasm, but I need a favor."

"Buzzt! - all out of 'em."

"You do know I saved your ass that one time."

"Sure. But I've been saving your ass secretly for the past three years."

"Huh. Yeah? I want to see some receipts."

"You know, that beard is not bad. Makes you a bit of a daddy."

"A bit of - _what_?"

"Yeah ... I can see hitting that. You know, if I were sufficiently coked up and had just broken up with that guy who rants about chem trails down at the Band des Bundes. "

"Okay. Well, great seeing you, Sharon."

"Whoa there, Gramps. Sit down. You haven't even told me what you want yet, ya sorehead."

"Will there be more torrents of abuse?"

"Maybe. Only one way of finding out."

"How do I get a visa to enter Wakanda?"

"Interestingly enough, I know the answer to this question. The first thing you need is an invite. Know anybody there? Ha, ha - joke. The second thing you need is a fairly sizeable wad of cash. You've got to pay for your whole trip in advance. I reiterate - in cash. Money transfers only. You do that through an officially approved Wakandan travel agent. Then you need a metric buttload of patience, because it's gonna take a while. Interestingly enough, there is a Wakandan Embassy in Berlin. They could have told you all this for free. So what are you _actually_ asking me?"

"How do I get a visa to enter Wakanda before the end of the week?"

"Attaboy. In two words, you don't. In three words, you absolutely fucking don't."

"That's four words."

"I know. I was checking to see if you were paying attention. Good luck, Ross, and thanks for the coffee."


	6. Doesn't Mean I'm Sorry

_Nakia came to her an hour before her hearing, bearing pots of face-paint and a shapeless grey garment. She embraced Shuri silently, stoically, but Shuri could tell that she had been crying._

 _"That bad?" Shuri asked, trying for a note of levity._

 _Nakia bit her lower lip and shook her head. "I dare not speak, I am so angry."_

 _"Oh." Shuri's heart and stomach seemed to drop within her body._

 _"After all you have done for Wakanda, all Everett has done for Wakanda-"_

 _Shuri laughed, a trifle loudly, a trifle hysterically. "Oh, indeed. He has done much for us."_

 _Nakia turned away as Shuri changed into the robe of penitence. Then she daubed Shuri's face with marks that designated her as a ghost._ As if I had actually died, _Shuri thought bitterly._ And maybe I had. _Unbidden, she thought,_ I died the little death. Over and over and over. _She shook her head as if to shake out the unwelcome thought._

 _"You are ready," Nakia said. "Do what you have to do to come back. Do you understand? For T'Challa's sake, for the Queen Mother's sake, and for the sake of Wakanda, do what you have to do."_

 _"Yes. I understand. I hate it, but I understand. Thank you, Nakia."_

 _Nakia embraced her quickly, fiercely, and left. Soon after, Mthobeli and Thembeka entered and saluted her. Shuri suspected they oughtn't to have, given their nervous glances. But she was glad of them. They escorted her to the throne room, knocked on the door, and waited._

 _The doors swung open. T'Challa was seated on the throne, dressed regally but somberly. Mother stood beside the throne, her hands clutched tightly together, and blinked and swallowed hard when she saw Shuri with ghost-marks on her face. The elders were assembled and seated. Prince Negasi, suave as always in his green designer suit and elegant lip-plate, gazed at her with an unreadable expression. Prince W'Kabei, whose nephew W'Kabi even now languished in prison, glanced nervously between Shuri, T'Challa, and the other elders. Princess Malazo, whom Shuri loved as a favored auntie, dropped her gaze to her lap and seemed embarrassed. But Princess Tafsut, the oldest of the elders, stared at Shuri with a hard, unwavering gaze, her mouth shaped by disgust._

 _"Who is this ghost brought before me today?" T'Challa asked, his voice measured and ceremonial. Mother flinched. She gave Shuri an imploring glance._

 _"I am Shuri, daughter of T'Chaka, daughter of Ramonda, sister to King T'Challa."_

 _"What is the petition of this ghost?"_

 _"To be forgiven my transgression. To be brought back to the living. To be reunited with my homeland."_

 _"What is the transgression of this ghost?"_

 _Shuri narrowed her eyes. She bit the inside of her lip. Her breath came hard. She remembered what Nakia had said._

 _"I have displeased the council of elders," she said at last._

 _"Hmph!" Princess Tafsut shifted in her seat. "You have done more than that, ghost."_

 _"Perhaps you would care to elaborate?" Shuri said acidly._

 _"You know what you have done," Tafsut said. "You married a white man, a stranger, an American, and a spy. You put all of Wakanda at risk by this marriage."_

 _"And I didn't even ask your permission, did I, Granny Tafsut?"_

 _"Shuri!" Ramonda cried._

 _"You have no right to call me Granny, ghost. You are no kin of mine."_

 _"Nonsense. I have called you Granny all my life. And you have called me your little nanny goat, always butting you with my head for pets and treats."_

 _Princess Tafsut cleared her throat gruffly and looked away._

 _"You demeaned yourself by this marriage, and us by extension," she said. "Well, you have made a poor bed for yourself, and we are happy to let you lie in it."_

 _Shuri laughed and shook her head. "Do you know, I never realized before how, well,_ tribal _the tribal council is. Isn't that what this is all about? Like it or not, we are a family. And yes, I broke family protocol by marrying behind your backs, but that was not my intention. And yes, that - that man is white, a stranger, an American, and a spy. I will admit that I chose imprudently. But to cut me out! That was cruel."_

 _"We must do what we can to protect Wakanda," said Prince W'Kabei. He looked abashed enough that Shuri held her tongue and didn't mention the Battle of Mt Bashenga or his nephew's role in it._

 _"And you thought to accomplish that by banishing Wakanda's greatest scientific mind? That is me, by the way. Did you honestly think I would betray us?"_

 _"Love can make a person do foolish things," said Prince Negasi._

 _"However, I was not in love," said Shuri._

 _Princess Malazo glanced up quickly, her eyes full of sympathy. "Then why did you marry, child?"_

 _Shuri shrugged. "The play was delightful."_

 _Malazo covered her eyes and shook her head._

 _"King T'Challa, may I speak?" Mother said._

 _"Please do."_

 _"If anyone is to blame for this marriage, it is I." She explained the situation with Shuri's destiny chart in great detail, and the council listened with at least the semblance of respect. "If anyone in this room deserves censure, it is I. But I would do it again without hesitation."_

 _"You have acted as a loving mother," Prince Negasi said. "You are to be commended. And this certainly casts a new light on the situation."_

 _"It would cast a new light," said Princess Tafsut, "if this ghost showed the slightest hint of remorse."_

 _"I signed my divorce papers this morning," said Shuri. "Is that remorseful enough for you?"_

 _"Hmph. Your lack of commitment is disheartening."_

 _"Ha! So I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't?"_

 _"Shuri ..." T'Challa's eyes were kind, even if his voice held warning._

 _Shuri sighed. She dropped to her knees, then bowed her head until her forehead touched the floor._

 _"This ghost begs forgiveness. This ghost repents of her wrongdoings. This ghost will dedicate her life to the good of Wakanda and her King."_

 _Princess Malazo said, as if she couldn't contain her words any longer, "The Mining Tribe forgives this ghost and welcomes her back to life."_

 _Prince Negasi said, "The River Tribe forgives this ghost and welcomes her back to life."_

 _Prince W'Kabei said, "The Border Tribe forgives this ghost and welcomes her back to life."_

 _It seemed as if the ensuing silence lasted for an hour. In reality, it was only a minute. Then Princess Tafsut said, her voice still gruff, "The Merchant Tribe forgives this ghost and welcomes her back to life."_

 _As Shuri raised her head from the floor, the doors flew open with a heavy crash._

 _"What did I miss?" shouted M'Baku._


	7. A Stranger's Heart Without a Home

Of course he knew he could have gotten the information at the embassy, or at the consulate in Budapest, or simply online. But he'd still gone to the trouble of retrieving his Everett K. Ross passport from the cache of passports beneath the loose floorboard in his apartment, and traveled to Berlin on the not particularly bright hope that Sharon Carter could hook him up with the provider of less than legit visas. The fact was that since seeing Shuri, holding and kissing Shuri, he'd been siezed by an almost unbearable restlessness. The quiescence of his life in Budapest as Istvan Nagy, coffee house proprietor and sometime dealer in information, became suffocating. He had to get out of the city. He had to move, even if movement was unneccessary, impractical, and ultimately futile.

But mostly, he had to get back into his own skin - the skin that Shuri had touched and kissed. He had to reclaim his name. He had to be himself.

He wondered about what Sharon had said - that she'd repeatedly saved his ass over these past three years. She might have been telling him the truth. The CIA might well have been keeping him safe, keeping him in reserve for when he was ready to enter the game again. Now that they knew he wanted back into Wakanda, they might be formulating their strategy, calculating how best to use him.

Or they might not. They might think he was nothing but a bum, too. He stopped to glance at his reflection in a shop window. Shuri had said it was a handsome beard. What the hell did Carter know, anyway? She had terrible taste in men (one man in particular, who, now he thought about it, had also worn a beard the last time he'd seen him).

He turned away and went to the curb, where he whistled for a cab. He was in Berlin. Might as well go to the Wakandan Embassy and stand, however briefly, on Wakandan soil again.

In three years, the massive upheaval caused by Wakanda revealing its true face to the world had died down considerably. After all, this was a world that had grown used to superheroes and had lived through alien invasion. The varying protests had thinned out in response to Wakanda's belated outreach, and was now mostly reduced to the lunatic fringe of conspiracy theorists and white supremacists. Only two protestors stood outside the Wakandan Embassy on this day, one holding a sign claiming WAKANDA = ILLUMINATI, and the other, VIBRANIUM KILLS!

At the door were posted two guards of the Border Tribe, dressed in Western-style suits, their blankets draped over one shoulder. Their facial scarification indicated their rank. Sabers at their waists, spears in their hands, they provided compelling subjects for a number of tourists, who clicked photos and selfies with cheerful abandon. Everett nodded as he walked past the two guards, who, in turn, failed to react. Which was one reason why Everett wasn't prepared for the stir he caused inside.

The receptionist rose from behind his desk, his expression one of excited curiosity. Doors opened all up and down the hallways, and people emerged, all excited whispering, smiles, appraising glances.

"Mr. Everett Ross," said the receptionist. "Welcome! How may I direct you?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"Your passport was scanned as you passed through the sensors at the door."

"What sensors?"

"Exactly." The receptionist looked gratified.

"I'm here to see about obtaining a visa."

The whispering increased, like a swelling wave. It was somewhat disconcerting, even though Everett got the impression the whispers were approving.

A stately older woman with close-cropped white hair and a chic purple suit strode down the hallway. "I will handle this, W'Tamba," she said to the receptionist.

"Of course, Madam Ambassador," the receptionist replied.

"Madam Ambassador," Everett said, bowing in greeting.

"Please follow me, Mr. Ross."

The people standing in doorways watched him pass. He heard the word "beard" whispered approvingly at least twice. One very pretty and chic young clerk caught his eye and winked at him, slowly and provocatively.

Sharon could suck it.

Though in an old building, the embassador's office was decorated with the same mixture of Wakandan traditional and contemporary art, each informed by Wakandan tech, that distinguished Shuri's lab. Everett felt instantly homesick.

"Please, sit," said the Ambassador. "May I offer you tea?"

"Thank you, no. I'm afraid my business here falls far beneath your purview, Madam Ambassador. I'm simply here to apply for a visa."

"I can still assist you, Mr. Ross," she said, smiling with a trace of irony. "As you may know, visas are obtained first through invitation, which may simply come from the hotel where you will be staying. For most people, I would advise setting aside six months minimum for travel arrangement and the visa process. The whole world, you see, wants to visit Wakanda, and our government is giving priority to academics and medical researchers before ordinary tourists, who are chosen by lottery. But you are no ordinary tourist, are you, Mr. Ross?"

"I'm not sure -"

She touched a Kimoyo bead and a hologram of King T'Challa filled the space between them.

"Greetings, Mr. Ross. I am glad to see that you have retained an interest in Wakanda, despite an absence of three years. I have wished to give you the space and privacy you required following the dissolution of your marriage, and so have not contacted you before now. My message is simple. I, as King of Wakanda, invite you to visit me at the royal palace in Birnin Zana. Instructions are in place to expedite your visa application and to waive the monetary requirements, since you will be my particular and invited guest. If these arrangements are acceptible to you, please authorize with your thumbprint and eye scan the forthcoming documents. I sincerely look forward to seeing you again, my friend. Oh," and here came the familiar, shy smile Everett remembered. "I have been requested to ask that you not shave off your beard."

Everett wanted to contact Sharon again just to gloat.


	8. Alone to Count the Stars Above

_"M'Baku," Princess Tafsut said, her mouth twisted as if the taste of his name was repellent. "If you insist on being part of the tribal council, you might at least have the common courtesy to arrive on time."_

 _M'Baku saluted her with exaggerated reverence, but ignored his king and everybody but Shuri._

 _"Stand up, girl. Whatever it is you have lost on the floor, the cleaning staff can find it later. Tut tut ... what have you got on your face?" He approached Prince Negasi and snatched his pocket square, then dipped it in Prince W'Kabei's glass of water. He strode to where Shuri stood, took her chin in his massive hand, and gently cleaned the ghost-marks from her face. "How did you get all this schmutz on your face? Do you like that word? Schmutz? It is a Yiddish word I learned from a Jewish classmate when I was away at English boarding school. Another Yiddish word he taught me is schmatta, which perfectly describes this ... thing you are wearing. In our short acquaintance I have come to expect better style from you. Speaking of style, how is your husband?"_

 _"I do not have a husband any more."_

 _"Over so quickly! Well, well. What a shame. He was beginning to grow on me. No worries. My oldest has developed a crush on you. When he is of age, you should consider a match with him. There now. All clean." M'Baku neatly folded the pocket square and brought it back to Prince Negasi, who accepted it gingerly. "And have you forgiven this girl for falling in love with the wrong sort of man?"_

 _"I wasn't in love," Shuri insisted. Her tone was now openly sullen. It was hard enough to prostrate herself before the tribal council. But to have her face washed by M'Baku, as if she were a child, was more than her injured dignity could stand._

 _M'Baku raised an eyebrow. "Appearances to the contrary."_

 _"Princess Shuri has been forgiven and brought back into the arms of her homeland," King T'Challa said._

 _"Oh," M'Baku said, glancing at T'Challa. "Hello. I did not see you there. Nor you, Queen Mother."_

 _"Why are you here?" asked Prince W'Kabei._

 _"To attend council business, of course. But if it has concluded without me, I suggest that I join King T'Challa and his family for dinner. It is a long hike from Jabari Land, and I am starving!"_

* * *

 _"So," said T'Challa._

 _"So," sighed Shuri._

 _"I am sorry you had to go through that. It must have been humiliating for you."_

 _"It was."_

 _"I fear you may experience more unpleasantness in future. I have been informed that your marriage was received positively by the younger generation of Wakandans, and there might be disappointment that it has been dissolved. I have also been informed that much of the Royal Court unfortunately regards you with anger and contempt."_

 _"Ouch," Shuri said, wincing._

 _"I promised you that I would not lie to you," T'Challa said. "It is best to be forewarned against this kind of thing."_

 _"As if it were their business."_

 _"They believe it to be. So tell me, Sister. What would you like to do now?"_

 _Without hesitation, Shuri said, "Work. I want you to put me to work any way you can. I have a flock of ideas I have been tending, also, but I would like to put myself at your disposal first. We must fight these sticks-in-the-mud together."_

 _T'Challa smiled. "I am glad to hear you say that. Tomorrow I would like to take you to America. There are still repairs to be made in your lab, and I have a cherished project I would like to begin. What do you think?"_

 _"Yes," Shuri said enthusiastically. "I would like to go to America."_

 _"Then you had best get to bed. I would like to make an early start."_


	9. Chocolate in Birnin Zana with Tafsut

"Good afternoon, Princess Tafsut! I'm just back from Hungary, and I brought you those chocolates you like."

"Good afternoon, Shuri. You are a good girl to remember an old woman."

"I know no old women. Who are you referring to?"

"You nanny goat! How dare you speak flippantly to me?" Princess Tafsut sighed. "I am old and and I am tired. The business of state has grown too broad and complex for me. On the next new moon, I shall resign from the council and Iken will take my place."

"Not Tafrara?" Shuri was surprised. The Merchant Tribe had from time immemorial been matrilineal.

"Is the Golden Tribe the only that may change?" Tafsut demanded. But Shuri could tell that she was uneasy about it. "Tafrara is too busy working with the King on international trade policy to be interested in the position. Iken wants to sit on the council. His ambitions remain within Wakanda's borders. I will warn you, child. He wants you for Amastan's bride."

"Oh. And what is your opinion on that subject?"

"I have no opinion. Do not gawk at me like that, child!"

"You have never not had an opinion in the 27 years I have known you."

"I think it would be a dangerous match, but more palatable than one with M'Baku's infant."

"He is 13, Tafsut."

"Infant!"

"Well, never mind. I am not interested in marrying either of them."

"You are still pining over that white man."

"Pardon me. I do not pine. I do not have time to pine. I am too busy working."

"That is how you pine. Yes. I understand more about you than you may know. You have lost weight, and your eyes are tired. You have worked yourself to exhaustion these three years. Tilelli tells me -"

"I knew I should not have hired your granddaughter as my secretary! She is spying for you."

"Nonsense. If she were spying for me, she would have told me about your search for that white man. Instead I had to hear it from another source, who took great pleasure in lording it over me."

"Whoever your source is, I will give you fresh intelligence to lord over them. I have just come from seeing Everett in Budapest."

Tafsut shoved the chocolate away.

"Don't worry," Shuri said drily. "He didn't touch it."

"Bribing me! You are bribing me!"

"I am not bribing you! What would I be bribing you about?"

"'Like a dog returning to its vomit.'"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is something from the Bible of the Ethiopians."

"I am not a dog."

"No. You are a goat, and you are using your goat brains."

It was an old joke between them - 'are you using your girl brains or your goat brains?'

"Granny, T'Challa is going to invite him to Birnin Zana."

"Oh. Oh. Just when I thought you had come to your senses."

"Perhaps I have. I have had some time to think of things other than work these past three years. And one thought I return to with great frequency and even greater shame is that I allowed you all to bully me out of my marriage. I should have fought for Everett. I should have proved to you that the match was not dangerous."

"Not dangerous? Not dangerous? Child, are you out of your mind? You are not even using goat brains now. Goats have more sense of self-preservation."

Shuri changed her tone. She allowed her tiredness, her vulnerability, free reign. "I need to find out about him, Granny. I need to find out if things he said and things he did were just so that I would leave him and come back home without regretting it. I need to find out if he actually drove me away for my own happiness."

"Hmph. Are people unselfish like that?"

"I think he might be unselfish like that."

"If that is true, then he must have loved you."

"And if I let him, I must not have loved him."

"And now?"

"I don't know. That's another thing I need to find out. Please help me, Granny. Please meet him and get to know him."

"Why are you asking me? I was against that marriage, and I would be against it still today. You would be better asking Malazo. She and her soft heart."

"That is precisely why I would not ask her. Because of her soft heart. You have the keenest eye and mind for character of anybody I know. You are brilliant at seeing the worst in people. And that's what I need. I need you to see the worst in him."

"Hmph. Slide that box of chocolate back over here."


	10. Exhausted Women in Need of a Vacation

Shuri wasn't the only one to stretch herself thin and work herself to near-exhaustion. Queen Nakia, heavily pregnant with twins, intended to work as long as she could before her delivery and was pushing herself to get her lieutenants up to speed so that they could carry on her field work in her absence. She planned a lengthy maternity leave for herself, forgoing her work (with the exception of attending local meetings of the committees she chaired) for a year at the least.

Twins ran in Nakia's family, skipping every other generation. Nakia's mother and Prince Negasi were fraternal twins. Following in the footsteps of her grandmother, Nakia was also carrying a boy and a girl, and it was a matter of national interest, and not a little bookmaking, which infant would exit the womb first. If Wakanda were to have a female Black Panther in its future, Nakia was, many agreed, the ideal mother.

Two evenings after Shuri's conversation with Princess Tafsut, she and Nakia met in one of the palace rooftop gardens. Its thermal pool was one of their favorite retreats. Many an evening they had spent soaking together and sipping champagne. These days, they sipped sweet iced tisanes. Nakia would not drink during her pregnancy, and Shuri had not been able to taste champagne since that terrible day in Budapest.

This evening, they stripped among the arbors of wisteria, jasmine, and climbing roses, moaning and groaning as if they'd both just run a marathon.

"Oh Bast, I am worn out," Nakia sighed, sinking shoulder-deep in the pool. She sat gratefully on the submerged bench and closed her eyes. "These wild ones will not let me rest. They kept me awake all night with their dancing."

"At least they are dancing and not fighting," Shuri said.

"As if my children would fight! What a terrible aunt you are to even suggest such a thing!"

"Forgive me," Shuri said, smiling apologetically. "I have my own, less physical worries keeping me awake at night."

"I know it," Nakia said. "You need a vacation. You have been working non-stop for three years. Cannot you go to the country and rest for a few weeks?"

"I am considering it," Shuri admitted. "I am afraid that if I go on as I have been, I will make mistakes from fatigue. Besides, Everett will be coming. Soon, I hope."

"Hmm." Nakia had been diplomatic about the whole situation, listening to Shuri without expressing an opinion one way or another. "Yes. And how have you been getting on with the tribal elders?"

"I have only spoken with Tafsut about it. Malazo will be easy to convince."

"You may have an easy time with Uncle Negasi, too," Nakia said. "He has found himself a new lover, a young man of quite astonishing beauty, and that has put him in a good humor."

"That is fortunate. I always have such a difficult time reading him."

"It's the lip plate," Nakia said. "He wears it on purpose, to be inscrutable. And how will you deal with W'Kabei?"

"The poor man is so frightened of offending us all that I'm not worried about him. But he may be in a good humor, himself, since W'Kabi's prison sentence is nearly up."

"And M'Baku?"

"Bast knows," Shuri groaned. "In honor of his foreign trickster god, I think M'Baku will do whatever amuses him the most."

"He does enjoy being the loosest of loose cannons," Nakia agreed. "He keeps us all from being too stodgy. If I remember correctly, he did rather like Agent Ross."

"I think M'Baku liked teasing him. It is scarcely the same thing."

"Ah, well. You will work it out."

They both closed their eyes and ejoyed the water, each lost in her own thoughts. The sun was setting when a servant found them.

"My Queen. Princess. A man has arrived at the palace asking after you, Princess. A white man."

As Shuri scrambled out of the pool and into a thick cotton towel, Nakia smiled. "And so it begins."


	11. Masturbation Fantasy 2

Shuri ran, leaving, at first, a trail of wet footprints. Her dripping-wet braids slapped her back, sharp and stinging and growing cold. The servant ran to keep up with her.

"Where did you put him?"

"Your office, Your Highness."

"Good. Go tell Mr. Ross that I will be with him soon. Just that. Soon."

"Of course, Your Highness."

"Thank you." She touched a Kimoyo bead. "Hairdresser, please, my quarters, immediately!" A small cluster of courtiers conversing at the doorway to the library fell silent and stared in frank astonishment as the towel-clad princess sped past them. She touched a Kimoyo bead again. "T'Challa, he is here. Do not touch him! I must be the first to see him."

She and the hairdresser arrived at her quarters at the same moment. "Thank Bast! I need you to make me magnificent as quickly as possible!"

It might have been the heat from the thermal pool, or the sprint to her quarters. but she felt suddenly unsteady on her legs. Her face was flushed. She sank down on the seat before her dressing table and let the hairdresser take charge of her.

He was here. He was in her office. He had come.

Why was she wasting precious time on her hair? She must tend to herself, she must fetch herself, or else she would lose all resolve. She must not give way to him. She must not.

Fortunately, the hairdresser worked quickly, drying Shuri's braids, smoothing them with richly-scented oils, arranging them in a topknot and a single thick braid entwined with amber beads strung on vibranium wire. The look was youthful but regal - just what she had wanted. She thanked the hairdresser, perhaps a bit perfunctorily, and shooed her away.

She locked the door, sat on the bed, and let the towel fall away from her too-hot body.

 _She imagines running down the hallway again, clutching her towel closed so as not to scandalize whomever she meets on the way. She imagines herself at the door of her office. She flings it open. There he stands. What is he wearing? Mmm, leave him in those jeans, that T-shirt he wore when she last saw him. Maybe give him a sheepskin bomber jacket, brown leather worn and cracked in places. He's scruffy and adorable. She goes in, slams the door shut and locks it. How long will they stand, just looking at each other? Her chest is heaving from the exertion of running._

That cliche made her smile, but did not stop the slow movement of her hand.

 _She lets the towel drop. Her braids are dripping wet. The water drops leave a pattern on the floor. Then she breaks. She has been alone far too long. She needs him. She backs him to her desk and then pushes him down._

 _"Shouldn't I be doing that?" he asks._

 _"It's my office. It's my country. And I am a princess," she says._

 _"Fair enough. Have your way with me, Princess."_

 _"Believe me, I will."_

 _And because it's a fantasy, his clothes melt away and he is magnificently nude, magnificently hard. Oh, that cock. How she utterly adores that cock. She climbs up on the desk and she mounts him and -_

 _Wait. Maybe he's right. Maybe he should have his way with her, instead. That beard is piratical. What if he is a pirate, and her office is his quarters on his pirate ship, and there's a feather bed, and the waves are rocking. And he has just stripped her bare. Oh, Bast, her pirate has got one thing on his mind, and she is helpless, helpless._

And she smiled again, because when had she ever in her life been helpless?

All of a sudden, her hand stilled, and she moaned out loud.

Because, of course, she remembered her hands bound, her legs spread wide, and Everett cutting her clothes off her piece by piece. She remembered him interrogating her.

She remembered him -

She was never helpless. Even then, she wasn't helpless. She was sinking, she was drowning, and then, suddenly, she was floating in the perfect illusion of helplessness.

She could have fought him, but she didn't, because she didn't want to fight him. She didn't want to stop him. Not when it felt so wicked, so shameful, so good. It was more keen than any pleasure she had ever felt, to float helplessly at his will, to float helplessly in a cloud of steam and lust and fear, legs spread wide.

One hand over her mouth, the older holding her wrists over her head and against the floor, he is -

She came. She came so hard she shrieked, as she always did when she allowed herself to remember.

Thank Bast. Thank Bast. Now she could face him.


	12. Chapter 12

Airports around the world were still scrambling to accommodate the Wakandan vertical lift-off craft, but Berlin Schönefeld Airport, the first European airport chosen as a hub, had adapted with typical German efficiency. The Wakandans, too, had adapted, manufacturing Talons to more closely mimic the interior of private jets, for the psychic comfort (Everett presumed) of the non-Wakandan travelers. There were thirteen other passengers on his flight, all of the suit-and-tie, snapping suitcase-latches, important cell-phone voice variety. In other words, they looked and acted a lot like the way he used to look and act. He was underdressed for this crowd. In his well-worn denim and flannel, hiking boots and backpack, he looked like a geology professor. To complete the resemblance, he ordered a beer from the flight attendant. It was the first drink he'd had since the champagne that night in Budapest. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed the taste, and by how much it calmed the nerves he'd been too nervous to notice. The other passengers had glanced at him and dismissed him, but one stared at him with the open hostility of a master being seated next to a servant. Everett raised his glass to the master, who looked away in disgust.

He planned to change into a suit before he met with King T'Challa, but he wanted to see Shuri first, and see her like this. It was ridiculous, but he felt more essentially male dressed this way - more authentically ready to fuck. He hoped she'd just been kidding about the chastity.

After a three-hour flight, the craft landed at the airport outside of Birnin Zana - outside, in fact, of the cloaking shield that still protected and hid the city. Smart, Everett thought. No need to be a sitting duck, even if heavily armored. Off the craft, a beautiful, androgynous-looking person, dressed in what Everett recognized as the livery of a chauffeur, approached him.

"Mr. Everett Ross?"

"Yes."

The person bowed. "I am Philani, King T'Challa's personal driver. He has requested me to take you to the palace."

The other passengers stared in open astonishment.

Everett smiled. "Thank you, Philani."

"This way, sir."

The scenery on the drive stirred him, heart and soul. It was, again, the feeling of coming home - and mistrust of that feeling, since he, as a white American, had no right to call Wakanda home. But he loved it. He yearned for it, the way he yearned for Shuri. And now that he was back, he wondered how he could have stood being away - from Shuri, from Wakanda, from the whole wonder-tale of this world.

At the palace, he was led to an office and told that Princess Shuri would be informed of his arrival. He wandered the office, looking at the art and artefacts throughout. On the desk was a gadget in pieces - something Shuri was taking apart, or assembling, when she couldn't get to her lab? Something to tinker with between meetings, when statecraft was getting on her nerves?

Next to the gadget was an elderly, leather-bound book, left as if tossed down carelessly, a bookmark also carelessly placed with convincing crookedness. He picked it up: _The Customs, Rituals, and Superstitions of the Wakandan_ , by Rev. Alworth H. Moody, Oxford University Press, 1911. The bookmark had been placed at the beginning of the chapter "On the Courtship Habits of the Native Wakandan" (which seemed to imply there were imported Wakandans with which to compare). As time ticked by, he read, distracted, at first, and later frankly entertained. The Border Tribe had clearly, at one point or another, had fun with the visiting and credulous Rev. Alworth H. Moody. At least, Everett hoped they'd had fun. Drinking fermented lion urine was not high on his bucket list. And how did you go about gathering lion urine, anyway? Were there even lions in Wakanda? He'd better Google it later.

He had just got to the paragraphs on ritual penis-painting (of which Rev. Moody clearly disapproved), when the door opened and Shuri entered, flanked by her Dora Milaje.

The book dropped, forgotten, on the desk.

Shuri was dressed in a full-skirted, floor-length gown similar to the kind Queen Mother Ramonda wore, except fashioned from a rich, gold and black brocade woven in a pattern that resembled circuitry. The square neckline, too, was cut lower than the Queen Mother's, and Shuri's small breasts were pushed up deliciously. Her many braids had been woven together and strung with amber and vibranium. She wore no cosmetics but a subtle dusting of gold highlighting her cheekbones, her eyelids, and her breasts.

Everett took in her air of composure and formality of dress. All right. He was happy to play. He took her hand and, bowing at the waist, kissed her fingers ... which smelled like honey and the sea. Still in his bow, he glanced up at her. She was briefly, obviously flustered. She had forgotten to wash her hands, or she hadn't expected the hand-kissing, and her gaze briefly left his, only to return with a defiant, almost triumphant glance. _Attagirl, Princess_ , Everett thought. _Turn that faux pas into a battle tactic_. He touched her fingers briefly with just the tip of his tongue, such a subtle gesture that the Dora Milaje wouldn't see it. Shuri's eyes narrowed briefly.

He straightened up and leaned in. "Mermaid," he said softly.

* * *

 _And now she was a mermaid, and the pirate had captured her and was exploring her ..._

What was it about this man, _this_ man, that made her feel so hungry, so needy, so raw? Other men were taller, better looking, younger, better dressed. She knew men nearer her rank, men in her fields of study, men who sent other women wild. And yet he was the man she craved, the man she couldn't get over, the man she couldn't cure herself of wanting.

"Your Highness, can we have a moment alone?" he asked.

Shuri hesitated, then nodded to her Dora Milaje, who left the room.

"What are the rules of this game? You said something about chastity, but I think you really must have meant celibacy." He glanced at her hand, which he still held.

"Naturally," she said.

He leaned in closer. "Were you really that afraid of giving in to me?"

She didn't answer.

"Shuri ..."

"Everything does not have to be about you."

"This does."

"Not necessarily."

"Don't tell me you've got a side piece."

Shuri smiled.

"Jealousy does work on me, you know."

She grew serious. "I know. I would never stoop so low."

"Then kiss me, mermaid. I want your hands and your mouth on me."

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, gently, teasingly. A shiver ran through his body, and he took her by the hips and pulled her closer.

"So hard for you, beauty. So hard."

Breathless, she said, "Yes."

"And you," he said, mouth against her neck, her ear."You might have jilled off before seeing me, but you haven't cured your appetite for me. Have you?"

"No," she said.

"Are you still wet?"

"Wetter."

"Sweet girl. Sweet, sweet girl. Desk, wall, or floor?"

"Desk, please. Now, please. Quickly, Everett."

At that moment came an abrupt and peevish-sounding knock on the door. The door swung open and Princess Tafsut swept in - if, indeed, a four-foot-ten nonagenarian walking with aid of a cane could be said to sweep. Shuri and Everett drew away from each other as if burned by each other's touch. Tafsut walked straight to the desk.

"Ah, here is where I left my book. And look - some careless person has lost my place."

"Granny, please, do you mind -"

"I do not mind at all. I will gladly introduce myself. Ah, _this_ white man. Yes. I remember you ... vaguely. I am the Princess Tafsut of the Merchant Tribe."

"Your Highness." He bowed over her hand, just as he had with Shuri. "Everett Ross of the Coloniser Tribe."

Tafsut made a startled sound that might have been a cough.

"I would leave you to colonise the Princess, but I believe the King has need of you instead. You," she said to Shuri. "Impatience is a vice. I shall put that next in my ledger, after 'white,' 'American,' and 'spy.'"

With a parting, appraising, and hardly flattering glance at Everett, Princess Tafsut swept back out, book in hand, leaving the door wide open behind her.

"What ledger?" asked Everett.

Shuri sighed. "Never mind."


	13. Chapter 13

_So she went with T'Challa to the United States of America. She went with him to Oakland, the birthplace of their cousin, the place of death of their uncle, and they launched T'Challa's great work - Wakanda's social and technological outreach to an oppressed people, the first of many._

 _Shuri worked. She worked because that was who she was. She worked because work was her joy. And if she worked perhaps too much, and if her work helped her to forget that man, then so much the better. Because, of course, she did hate him - at first for admitting that he had played her, and later, when the testimony of her mother convinced her, at last, that he hadn't played her at all - that he lied about lying so that she would have no regrets about leaving him behind. The noble idiot - noble because he wanted to spare her, idiotic because making her hate him was so unnecessary._

 _Well, as far as their marriage was concerned, neither of them had exactly covered themselves in glory._

 _And yet, despite her anger, despite hating him, each time she took out the ebony casket that held the rope of fragrant copal beads, each time she held the beads in one hand and a knife in the other, she could not bring herself to cut the rope. At first she stayed her hand out of spite. There must be some way she could use their Wakandan marriage against him. And then later, when her anger cooled and her hatred seeped away, when it seemed she really must move along with her life and choose a new spouse, she would think of him, some minute detail of him, and she would fall so deep into a daydream that she would set down the knife without even knowing it._

 _After two years, she began looking for him._


	14. Chapter 14

"Now," said Everett. His tongue briefly touched his lower lip. His eyes were dreamy. "Where were we?"

"On our way to the desk," said Shuri. "But first ..." She locked the door.

"That's surprisingly old-fashioned hardware for my technological genius," Everett said.

"I like a lock that cannot be hacked."

"Smart."

"I think so. This long skirt is so awkward. Help me up, please, my dear Everett."

"My pleasure, my dear Shuri."

But as he lifted her to sit on the desk, there came a knock on the door so loud and so forceful that somebody might have been firing cannonballs at it.

"Holy shit!" Everett exclaimed. "What the fuck?"

"Whoever is out there, go away!"

"Girl, answer your door. I am on an errand from the King."

"M'Baku," Shuri muttered, her face dire. She shouted, "The King and his errand will have to wait!"

M'Baku pounded on the door again in answer.

"Shuri, I think we found somebody who can literally hack that lock," Everett said.

Shuri sighed in exasperation and ulocked and opened the door.

"What?"

"The King has invited Agent Ross - hello, there! - to dinner. I will be attending, as well, so we may catch up. The beard is good. You used to look like a boy. Now you look like a man. A short man, but a man nonetheless."

"Thanks?"

"You have delivered your message. Now go away!"

"Don't work him too hard, girl. The man just arrived."

"Go!"

M'Baku wandered away, chuckling in an aggravating fashion. Shuri slammed the door and locked it.

Everett looked at her, and then he began to laugh. She'd never heard him laugh like that before, freely as a child.

"It is not funny," she said, trying to sound put out. But his laughter at first fascinated her, and then infected her, until she forgot her annoyance.

"Oh, Shuri," he said. "Just how many people know about your vow of chastity?"

"Nobody!" she said. "Nobody but you, that is."

"And I didn't tell a soul. Well, it seems as if everybody in Wakanda is bound and determined to help you keep it, whether they know about it or not. Oh, my dear Shuri. Shall we be good little children?"

She canted her head to one side and looked at him. Then she smiled. "Can you be good?"

"If you wish me to be, then yes."

"I no longer know what I wish. Such is the effect you have on me. All my wise resolutions and good intentions go straight out the window."

"Do I make you tipsy, Shuri?"

"You make me knee-walking drunk, my adorable Everett."

"Well, let's knee-walk together and meet your brother. I can't wait to have dinner with M'Baku."

They exited the office, arm in arm.

"Now tell me," Everett said, "what a princess of the Merchant Tribe would want with a copy of _The Customs, Rituals, and Superstitions of the Wakandan_?"

"Oh dear Bast. I am sure she left that for your express benefit - though perhaps benefit is the wrong word."

"It's all malarkey, isn't it?"

"What do you think? Fermented lion urine? We're not savages, you know."


	15. Chapter 15

His backpack and suitcase had been taken to the suite of rooms he'd stayed in before, three years past. The palace servants, ever efficient, had already unpacked and put away his clothes, and had even pressed and brushed his suit. While he showered, Shuri belatedly washed her hands, and then paced the room, occasionally going to the closet to touch his things (since she couldn't, at the moment, touch him). A game, he'd said. They could turn it into a game "and tease the ever-living fuck out of each other. Safe words respected."

"But Everett," she said, once he was out of the shower and putting on his suit (and he made her turn her back, which was honestly taking it rather too far, in her opinion), "turning chastity into a game hardly jives with my intention of us getting to know one another as people."

"As people? As opposed to?"

"You know what I mean. The way courting couples normally get to know each other."

"I liked our version of courtship."

"You are steadfastly refusing to understand me. Oh, and don't tie your tie. I want to do it for you."

"I'm sorry, Shuri. I'll stop joking. Of course I understand you. You can turn around now."

She did, and she sighed. He looked fine. Proper, even. Good enough to eat. Yes, good enough to kneel before and ...

He held out his necktie, red silk jacquard. He had a streak of dandyism that she thought was adorable. She crossed the distance to him, glad of the excuse to be close to him again, and brushed her fingers against his hair, damp and fragrant of vetiver, as she turned up his collar.

"I just wonder if it's as necessary as you think it is," he said, his breath warm on her cheek, soft as the silk as it slid over cotton. "Maybe this is just who we are - a couple of crazy, hot-blooded kids who ignite at contact with each other. It's not a bad way to be."

Her hands were a bit clumsy as she tied his necktie. He was making her tremble again. "But as a basis for a marriage? A lifelong commitment?"

"Trust me, darling." He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "There are a lot worse."

"There. All done."

"Then you can let go."

"Oh. Yes." Her hands dropped awkwardly to her sides, rustling the silk of her full skirt. Then, defensively, she said, "But what about love?"

He paused. "What about it?"

"Should not we, you know, _love_ each other?"

"That can come later."

"But ought not it come _first_?"

He seemed on the verge of speaking, but evidently changed his mind. At last he smiled, a bit brightly, it seemed, and said, "We'd better get going. I'd hate to keep your brother waiting."

* * *

The awkward cessation of conversation as they entered the dining room made Shuri wish they'd run away to some street vendor for supper. Of course Everett, always poised, showed no signs of discomfiture, despite the whole inquisition being present. Mother, T'Challa and Nakia would do what they could to act as social buffers. Prince Negasi, who outdid himself in the elegance department, eyed Everett with the cool, appraising glance of the aristocratic Lothario. His latest lover was not with him, so this dinner was strictly business. Tafsut, already seated, held the circular head of her cane in both hands, possibly ready to strike should either Everett or Shuri come near her. W'Kabei watched Everett with barely concealed hostility. Malazo, who had been chatting with Nakia (indeed, with her hand on Nakia's belly - perhaps feeling the twins dancing), fell silent, and her delighted smile faded away. M'Baku, apart from the rest, smiled broadly, enjoying the awkward tableau.

"Everett Ross," said T'Challa warmly, coming to greet him. He clapped one hand on Everett's shoulder, shook Everett's hand with the other, and smiled with genuine warmth. "It is so good to see you again. Welcome, welcome."

Nakia, as Queen, greeted him next, her warmth matching that of her husband. She seemed really glad to see him. As did Ramonda, who even gave him a motherly peck on the cheek.

The re-introductions to the Elders could hardly be more of a contrast. Only M'Baku was glad to see him, and greeted him with an unexpected, enormous, heartfelt hug.

Seated at the table, Everett remembered and admired the dishes of highly-polished hardwood inlaid with vibranium, the glasses and decanters carved of rock crystal. The food was first rate - trout with crisp skin, vegetables perfectly roasted and sweet, fresh field greens, and tender flatbreads instead of cutlery. The fish was seasoned with the most extraordinary spice he'd ever tasted. It began sharp like citrus peel, morphed into heat like a pepper, then bloomed into a mellow umame. The only comparable spice he'd tasted was Sichuan peppercorns. This spice left them in the dust.

"You like it?" M'Baku said, when Everett commented on it. "It is called okumnandi. It is a berry that grows only in our mountains. For many years it has been our major source of trade with the lowlands."

"I can see why. It's incredible!"

"It is also believed to have a slight aphrodisiac effect -"

"Pseudoscience," Shuri said.

"- which you certainly do not seem to need in order to go balls deep in my son's future wife."

Ramonda, who was mid-sip of palm wine, sputtered, put down her wine glass, and hastily left the room, coughing uncontrollably.

"Perhaps I should go after the Queen Mother and pat her back?" suggested M'Baku.

"No!" T'Challa, Nakia, and Shuri shouted. They sounded as if they were chastising an unruly pet.

Everett looked at Shuri inquiringly. "Future wife?" he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"May I raise the more pressing issue - if I may deem it so - of our national security? This man is a spy." W'Kabei glared at Everett with barely suppressed anger.

"Former spy," said Everett.

"- and an American."

Everett clicked his tongue and shrugged. "Still that."

"- who shot down our aircraft."

"On my command,"said Shuri. "And they were full of _our_ weapons leaving _our_ country."

"Over a densely populated city," said Malazo.

"Over the harbor, to be precise, and nobody was hurt. This wasn't my first rodeo, you know."

"The pilots of those craft might disagree, as would their survivors," said Negasi.

"I thought we already hashed this out?" said Nakia.

"There were casualties on both sides of the war," said T'Challa, his tone deceptively mild.

" _Our_ casualties."

"Does that make it less lamentable?" T'Challa asked.

"And you sneaked away to Europe to get married on the sly," said Tafsut.

"It was a public sneaking away," Nakia said.

"Besides," said Everett, "we got married here first."

After a beat of stunned silence, Shuri cried out, " _Everett_!"

"What? Was it supposed to be a secret?"

"Did you cut the rope?" asked Negasi.

"I do not see how that is any of your business."

" _Please_ say you cut the rope," said Malazo.

"Again, I do not see -"

"Obviously she didn't," said W'Kabei. "We pardoned her on incomplete evidence."

"Are you going to make me a ghost again?"

"Look, if you can't trust your own princess -"

"What I am saying," said W'Kabei. "We did and she betrayed us."

"M'Barak will be devastated," M'Baku said, his tone exceedingly lugubrious but his eyes sparkling with wicked fun.

"I vote that we lock them up." Tafsut banged her walking stick on the floor.

"They would enjoy that."

"Not together, M'Baku!"

Ramonda, who had entered, red-eyed, after quelling her coughing fit, sputtered in her wine again, but this time from sheer indignation.

"Listen to me! This man saved my daughter's life!"

"So you have said," W'Kabei replied. "However, her life would not have been in danger had she stayed in Wakanda."

"Do you think fate is so easily fooled?" Ramonda demanded.

" _Fate_ ," scoffed W'Kabei.

"Would you like to know what kind of man he is? Listen, and I will tell you. Not only did he marry Shuri on my request. Not only did he take a bullet for her. But I went to see him in Berlin, a week after Shuri returned home. I wanted to compensate him somehow for the great gift he had given me. I offered him money. I offered him vibranium. He refused both. In fact, he presented me with a coil of vibranium thread that you had salvaged from your wedding dress. He wanted nothing."

"You never told me this," said Shuri. She turned her glance to Everett and looked at him softly, wonderingly.

W'Kabei, not to be talked out of his scoffing mood, said, "What man accepts a gift of milk when he owns the goat?"

"By that time he had divorced the goat," M'Baku reminded him.

"Or so we were led to believe," said Prince Negasi .

"Excuse me. I did not marry a goat. I did not divorce a goat."

"That is as much as you know about it," Tafsut said tartly.

"Do not mind them, Everett. Despite the brilliance of my mind and my invaluable contributions to Wakanda and the world. I will always be nothing but a goat to these people."

"You have no right to play the victim here," said Malazo. "You misled us."

"A religious ceremony in Wakanda is binding only in the spiritual sense."

"As if that makes it better! Perhaps you were sharing sensitive state information with him in a spiritual sense," said Negasi.

"I hated him far too much to share anything with him."

"Then why is he sitting with us now?" asked Malazo.

"I no longer hate him."

T'Challa cleared his throat. He looked as if he had had enough. "Silence, if you please. I invited Mr. Ross here only in part on my sister's behalf. I also had my interest and that of Wakanda in mind."

"Good. You _are_ going to lock him up," said Tafsut.

"It is of greatest importance that our dealings with Mr. Ross be fully honest and transparent. That is why I shall make my proposal to him here, in the presence of all of you."

"But discussing business at dinner?" Ramonda said slightly reproachfully. Nakia might be Queen, but Ramonda was still Mother.

"We are all gathered now. I did not wish to delay."

"I'm all ears," said Everett.


	16. Chapter 16

T'Challa touched a Kimoyo bead and spoke. "Okoye, please send in the shaman."

The dining room doors opened and a purple-garbed shaman entered, carrying in both hands a stone chalice. She set the chalice before her king, bowed, and left the room. The doors closed behind her.

"You have all heard of the truth-speaking herb, but I suspect no one here has had reason to taste it. So that there will be no doubts as to the honesty of his answers tonight, I will ask Mr. Ross to drink. And because I would ask no one to do what I am not myself willing to do, I also will drink. I encourage each of you here to drink of it, too. You, of course, may chose not to ... but then you will be required to leave the room, and you will have forfeited your right to speak or rule on anything concerning Mr. Ross. Nothing that is said here tonight will be held against you, nor will it be spoken of to anybody not now present. Are we agreed?"

"I have nothing to hide," said W'Kabei.

"I hope I have always spoken honestly to my king." said Malazo.

"This promises to be entertaining," said Tafsut.

"Indeed," agreed Negasi. "In the spirit of seances and other such childish nonsense."

"I am a naturally honest man," said M'Baku. "It would be very funny, would it not, if this had the opposite effect and turned me into a liar."

"Mr. Ross, do you agree to drink of this herb?"

"I'm game," he said. "And more than a little curious. Leave it to Wakanda to have an actual truth serum."

T'Challa smiled. Then he turned to Shuri. "You have not weighed in, sister."

Shuri pinched a corner of her lower lip between thumb and forefinger and glanced at Everett, troubled. He smiled and winked at her, and she smiled back briefly.

"If I must, I must," she said. "With one caveat."

"Name it."

She got up and went to him, leaned over and whispered, "Do not, under any circumstances, ask me about Budapest. I mean it, T'Challa."

"Very well. I respect your caveat."

Nakia rose awkwardly. "My King, you well know I am a spy. Do you not know that we train to resist this herb? Besides, I do not know how it might effect the twins. They might decide to come out early and tattle on each other. So with the blessings of all present, I will now excuse myself. Goodnight to all of you. Be not too vicious to each other! for we must all work with each other on the morrow, and into the future."

Everybody rose to pay their respects to the Queen, and waited until she had left the room to again be seated. She had given a smile to everybody present with her quip about the twins, but her warning that followed was sobering. What might come out that could make it difficult, if not impossible, to continue working together?

"Well, let us get on with it," W'Kabei said impatiently.

"First Everett and I shall drink. Then we shall pass the chalice around the table."

Everett found the herb to have a pleasant bitterness to it, like fresh mustard greens. He noticed no effect, and then briefly a sense of clarity, and curiosity. He felt he might be physically bouyant, were not something hampering him and weighing him down in his chair.

"Everett Ross, are you currently a spy for the CIA?" asked T'Challa.

"God, no!" he said. "They kicked me out after Shuri and I got married in Vienna."

"When?"

"I found out when we were in Budapest, the same day Shuri found out she had been cut out."

"Did they not rehire you after the divorce?"

"They didn't ask, but if they had I'd have told them no."

"Why?"

"Got a few hours? Okay. First of all, I used to think the US were always the good guys. Even when we did terrible things, I assumed it would all balance out in the end. And then you brought me here. Here, where everybody has got health care, and food, and a place to live, and meaningful employment. People are healthy here. People are happy here. It's a utopia that has actually worked, despite, if you'll pardon my saying so, some awfully feudalistic traditions. Fighting to the death for the crown? Come on. That's Might Makes Right writ large."

T'Challa shrugged. "You speak the truth."

"But the other reason, maybe the more important reason, is simply that I didn't like who I became when I was with the CIA."

"And who had you become?"

"Well, if you'll pardon the expression, I was a real dick."

"I will concur with that assessment," said T'Challa, with his mild smile.

"It was too much power for me. I liked it too much. I abused it."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I think I did. I wanted to hurt people. I thought it was righteous anger, and maybe it was. Part of it, at least. Think of Zemo. An almost - yeah, no almost about it. An obscene enjoyment of power. I don't think I was made to hold that kind of power. I don't think I'm wise enough to hold it. And so that's why I'd rather make coffee now. Maybe that makes me a loser on the world stage, but that's all right with me. I'll at least be a harmless loser."

"Do you currently work as a spy for any other government or organization?"

"No. I do trade in information from time to time, freelance, but it's all harmless stuff."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

"So that, and your coffee house in Budapest, are your sole occupations?"

"Yes."

"And nobody approached you when you met Shuri again, or when you made arrangements to come here?"

"Nobody. I'm pretty much persona non grata these days. They've already got other players on the board."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I just know they do. They have to."

"Would you know them if you saw them?"

"Probably. Mind if I ask what all this questioning is leading up to?"

"Not at all. I propose that you open a coffee house here in Birnin Zana."

"I don't follow. You've got coffee houses here, right?"

"We do. But not a coffee house with a white owner. Not a place where whites might feel comfortable congregating, and speaking freely."

"You want me as a spy."

"As a pair of privileged ears. Let me speak frankly. Wakanda is too important for the United States of America to send more than a token African American or two. All the really important players will be white. You know this to be true."

Everett, scarlet to the tips of his ears, said, "Yes. It's true. I'm sorry. I wish it weren't."

"Do not be sorry. Here is an opportunity for you to use your white privelege."

"I don't want white privilege. And even if I did, I can't see how it could exist in Wakanda. I can't see how it would."

"I have noticed that some people think white privilege extends to them no matter where in the world they are."

"Not me," Everett said. "Not any more."

"Do you absolutely refuse?"

Everett sighed. "I don't know. I don't know how I can help you and still keep myself in line."

"It is good for a man to know himself. But I cannot help but believe your view of yourself is excessively pessimistic."

"Maybe. I don't know. I just don't want to turn into a little tin god again."

"Please give my proposal careful thought. You would be doing me a great and valuable service."

"I will."

"I say to you now, this man has been of valuable service to me. I am not certain, should he be put to the test, where his loyalties may ultimately lie ... with his country, with his ethnicity ... but I believe he can be useful, and I know he will act with Shuri's best interests at heart. If any of you have anything to say as concerns Mr. Ross, or my proposal, please speak."

"He is not a bad looking man. White skin always looks as if it should be tender, but it is rougher than melanated skin, and not as sensual. I wonder if he has had a man before. Perhaps when he was a boy." Negasi spoke as if in a daydream.

"I hate this man," said W'Kabei. "How dare he be at liberty, eating with us, while my nephew sits in a prison cell? He has no right. W'Kabi could kill him with his bare hands."

"Shuri by rights should marry my grandson. He is an incomparable warrior, a good man, and our tribe has waited long enough to advance. We deserve to be more than bankers to the king! You forget you would not be the wealthiest man alive, if not for us. Now that Nakia is Queen, you will rubber-stamp everything the River Tribe requests. Negasi can spend all his time with his lovers. Tafsut gets what she wants by being unpleasant, and you feel so guilty about W'Kabi that you are soft as butter with the Border Tribe, too. As for M'Baku, all he had to do was show up at Mt Bashenga with a few warriors and suddenly he is here among us all as if he belonged. And now you bring this white man to us, another interloper, and I cannot stand it another moment!"

Everybody stared at the usually level-headed Malazo in amazement. This kind of outburst waws unheard of. She seemed surprised by her own vehemence, and lay a hand on her heaving chest as if to calm herself.

"You do know your grandson prefers boys," Shuri said.

"Of course I know! What has that to do with a political marriage?"

Ramonda rose and walked to where Everett sat. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and patted his shoulder. "Do not pay any attention to their harsh words. You are all I could wish for in a son-in-law. Well, perhaps you could be a bit taller, but the children will be pretty nonetheless."

"The Queen Mother intrigues me," said M'Baku. "She is a prude in public, but those kind are usually wildest in the sheets. If only polygamy weren't taboo ..."

"And what does this have to do with Mr. Ross?" T'Challa asked sharply.

"Oh, nothing," said M'Baku.

Tafsut cleared her throat vehemently. "What," she said, with the tone of one getting back to the subject at hand, "does a spy know about running a business? What does a spy know about coffee?"

"Magda, a woman who worked for me, studied in Florence and taught me everything she knew, from bean identification to machine maintenace. She is a top barrista, and I'm a quick learner."

"Some of our citizens are interested in a Starbucks. What does that grimace imply?" demanded Tafsut.

"I'd as soon open a McDonalds."

"Do you believe you can do better?"

"I know I can do better."

"Prove it."

"I believe I already have. My coffee house in Budapest-"

"Prove it to _me_. Do as the King has requested. Open a coffee house, one like your coffee house in Budapest. Show me that your European coffee is better than Starbucks. An American making European coffee in Birnin Zana. This idea has a certain piquancy to it. Your Majesty, I would put him to the test with the failing cafe on Bright Street. Three months to turn it around. Oh, and he must be useful to you in the arena of espionage, also, of course. If he succeeds, he stays. If he fails, banishment for life."

"Three months?" Everett said, incredulous.

"Cannot do it? There. He admits he cannot."

"You came here for Shuri, did you not?" T'Challa said. "Could you not do it for her sake?"

Everett looked at Shuri. He took one of her hands in his and kissed it. He said, as if he couldn't help it, "God, I love you."

After a moment of stunned silence, Shuri said, "Do not love me, Everett. I cannot bear it. I do not know if I can love you in return. I do not know if I even have a loving heart. If I did, could I have left you in Budapest?"

"You came back for me."

"Three years later."

"You. Came. Back. For. Me."

"Poor M'Barak," sighed M'Baku. "How ever shall I break the news?"

"What nonsense!" said Tafsut. "Do you all not see what you have done? You have exposed your particular weaknesses to this man, who may choose to 'trade in' that information, to use his innocuous term. Negasi's obsession with male beauty, W'Kabei's bitterness about his nephew, Malazo's jealousy and her ambition for her Tribe, T'Challa's uncertainty, Ramonda's partiality, even Shuri's self-doubt. Only M'Baku and I have managed to keep from exposing our weaknesses - and Nakia, who wisely chose to leave the room."

"But he, in turn, has exposed his weaknesses," said Malazo, "His greatest being his fear of power and his love for Shuri."

"Weaknesses that must create an incredible tension in him," said T'Challa. "Being Shuri's husband would by definition confer an incredible amount of power."

"Why?" Everett demanded. "Why should it? Remember when I said I'd be happy shoveling manure in the royal stables if it meant coming home to Shuri every night? I meant that. I still do. And I'm not being self-deprecating. It would be returning to my roots. I worked at the local racetrack when I was a kid. I was crazy about horses. Still am. The greatest disappointment in my youth was being told I was actually too tall to be a jockey. Fortunately I wasn't too tall to be a pilot, which was my second choice. Well, astronaut, but demand for those dropped off by the time I came along."

"The Princess of Wakanda must not be married to a stable boy," said T'Challa.

"Fine. Swell. Whatever you want. Just don't ask me to have the power of life and death over another poor schlub. I'm done with that. I've moved on to a higher plane. I'm living my best life making coffee. My wife likes my coffee. Don't you, Wife?"

"I think the truth-speaking herb is having quite a strong effect on Mr. Ross," said Ramonda, both concerned and amused.

"What can I say? I'm a teetotaler. And a cheap date. And, if you'll pardon my French, this truth serum is fucking awesome."

"Oh, Everett. There is no truth serum," said Shuri. "The truth-speaking herb is nothing but a mild narcotic. Add to that the power of suggestion, emphasized by Nakia's leaving the room ..."

"Damn! So we're all just high, and the elusive truth serum remains elusive."

"So you and T'Challa and Nakia conspired to trick us all," W'Kabei said angrily.

"None of you were compelled to say what you said. You simply had less inhibitions about saying it."

"As I suspected. A parlor trick," Negasi muttered.

"A highly effective parlor trick," said Tafsut. "Now that you have entertained us, I must return to my home. I am an old woman and I need my rest."

"The cafe in Bright Street?" said T'Challa.

"I will return tomorrow to discuss the details."

As she left the room, Everett hummed the theme for the Wicked Witch of the West. Only M'Baku seemed to recognize it.


	17. Chapter 17

"I love you," he said. "Sleep with me tonight."

"Everett ..."

"I do mean sleep. No funny stuff. No lip-mashing, nor yet any body-crashing. Just sleep in my arms tonight. I have confessed my love to you in front of the Tribal Council and my heart must have you."

"He is quite intoxicated," said M'Baku judiciously. "Does he not know we are all still here?"

"I love you, too, M'Baku, but in a different way. I don't want to sleep with you. I hope you won't be hurt."

"Oh, no. Not at all."

"For Bast's sake!" W'Kabei said. "I have got to leave before I kill either the colonizer or the Jabari."

One after the other, the three remaining elders left the dining room. M'Baku yawned hugely, rose, and nodded goodnight to the King and the Princess, and patted Everett on the head before leaving.

"Well," said T'Challa.

"Well indeed," Shuri replied.

"I am always surprised by how unsurprising they are. And yet they are wise and good leaders, and give me steady counsel most of the time."

Shuri pinched herself. "I am still alive. They have not cut me out. That is a plus. But this coffee house scheme, T'Challa ... are whites so tribal that they would take themselves to a backwater like Bright Street just to buy coffee from a white man?"

"Yes," Everett said. "They are. Dumb fuckers."

"And are they going to open their mouths to a barista?"

"Yep. Fucking showoffs."

"I think Mr. Ross needs to retire for the night," T'Challa said, amused.

"All right." Shuri rose, and held out a hand to Everett. "Let us go and tuck you in, my inebriate. Good night, brother. Sleep well. Kiss Nakia and the twins good night for me."

"Twins are swell," Everett said to T'Challa. "Get the family out of the way in one go. Smart of you two to do it that way."

"Thank you, Mr. Ross! Good night."

"Good night, your majesty."

Once out of the dining room and away from the eyes of the Dora Milaje, Everett took Shuri by the upper arms and swung her, with surprising grace, against the wall. He kissed her, sweetly, thoroughly, and then he let her go.

"I had to," he said. "I confessed my love to you. But I couldn't kiss you in front of that lot."

"Hmm. I appreciate that. Now let us come along ..."

"I'm not _that_ high," he said seriously.

"How high is _that_ high?"

"Oh, you know. About there." He pointed toward a spot near the ceiling.

"Oh. Well. That changes everything."

"You are not allowed to get me high and then laugh at me! It's not as if I did it on purpose or something."

"Everett, you are really being adorable, but I am exhausted from my day and -"

"Good! Here's my room. Sleep with me, and that way you won't have to walk all the way to your suite."

"- and I, too, am feeling fuzzy from the herb, and I do not trust myself."

"You keep saying that. Would it help if I told you that I trust you?"

"No. Good night, Everett."

"Good night, cruel one."

Everett managed, high as he was, to carefully hang up his suit, and to brush his teeth. Stripped down to boxer briefs and a white T-shirt, he headed toward the enormous bed. He heard the knock just as he sat down. He got up and answered the door, and smiled broadly to see Shuri there, dressed in a soft white linen shift.

"Sleeping _only_ ," she said.

"Sleeping only."

They lay in each other's arms, shifting to get comfortable, bumping foreheads, apologizing, humming, sighing. After a while, Shuri said, "How long have you loved me?"

"Hmm. Since that first day in the lab. Love at first sight."

"Did you know?"

"I think so."

"Was it horrible?"

"God, yes. What's an old man like me doing falling in love with a brilliant young princess? That kind of thing. Fortunately, you seem to have a kink for old men like me."

"Yes."

"Geez. Don't deny it or anything."

"I will not lie to you, Everett."

"Am I really an old man?"

"Hideously old. I must be mad to want you."

"Lucky for me."

"Extremely lucky for you."

After a silence, Shuri noticed that Everett's breath had gone deep and steady, the breath of sleep. She listened for a while. Then she whispered, barely audibly, "I think I might love you, too."


	18. Masturbation Reality 1

She couldn't say what it was, exactly, that woke her up - the light from a single beeswax taper, the sensation of her wrists bound up above her head, or the quite, slow, rhythmic sound of Everett stroking his cock. He had dressed again, in suit and tie, and sat in a chair he'd drawn near, but not too near, the bed. He'd brought more than one tie with him, for a second one bound her wrists.

She was still in her linen shift, modestly covered.

Everett smiled at her. "Did you forget about me, Prisoner?"

She gasped and jerked her arms, but they were secure to the headboard.

He spoke to her as if his hand weren't moving on his cock, as if the tip weren't gleaming wet and red in the candlelight, as if she hadn't thought about him every night since that night in Budapest.

"When a man tells you who he is," he said, "believe him. An obscene -" his hips thrust forward " - enjoyment of power. Power over you, Prisoner. Power over your beautiful body. Power over your beautiful mind. Why so quiet, Prisoner?"

In truth, her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she thought it might be physically painful to speak.

"Never mind. I'll do the talking tonight. I'll do everything tonight." He nodded toward his busy hand. "I won't touch you, Prisoner. And when I'm done, I'll untie you. For now, I like you just as you are. So fucking pretty. So fucking helpless."

She moaned and closed her eyes. Her hips wanted to rise. Her vulva was full and hot.

"I have to wonder," he said, "about that truth-speaking herb. If it was your suggestion. If you knew it would let me out to play. Was it your suggestion, Prisoner? Were you looking for me?"

"Yes," she whispered, her face hot.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Agent Ross."

He moaned softly, as if her speaking the name sent a wave of pleasure through his body. "Good girl."

"I have been looking for you everywhere," she said. Her voice was pleading, almost anguished. "In other places. In other men. I did not want to, Agent Ross. I _had_ to."

"And did you find me, Prisoner?"

"Only just now," she said.

And that was enough to send him.


	19. This Is Mad Love

After he cleaned himself up and made himself proper again, he sat on the bed and untied her. True to his word, he did not touch her, though she longed for him to. She wanted to push her breasts, her hips toward him, to arch until her back felt on the verge of snapping. But she held herself in check and let her eyes, big in the dim light, speak for her.

Apparently their speech was eloquent, for Everett seemed lost in them. "Oh," he said, half sigh, half moan. "Oh, Prisoner. You are eating me alive with those eyes. But it will do you no good. I'm escorting you back to your suite, where you will go straight to bed. And you will not touch yourself, do you hear me?"

She made a dismayed sound.

"None of that. You will not touch yourself, or bring yourself off in any way. Do you understand?"

Trying to keep the disappointment from her voice, she said, "Yes, Agent Ross."

"Good. Now get up."

She obeyed. She followed him to her suite, every step reminding her of her arousal and her disappointment. She let herself in and hesitated just inside the door, hoping for something from him - a change of heart, a kiss, the slightest lover-like gesture. Instead, he simply said, "Good night, Prisoner. Sleep well," and shut the door between them.

 _Go straight to bed_. She imagined that if she didn't, he would know. It made her smile and it made her shiver, to think that he would know. She dropped into a crouch, staring at the door, daring Everett to know.

"Straight to bed!" he called through the door. She stifled a shriek, leapt up, and jumped into the bed. She pulled the covers over her head, just as if she were a child. And then she laughed into her pillow. She laughed because Everett knew her that well. And she laughed at the sheer absurdity of their relationship.

She must be mad. She knew she could pour the truth-speaking herb down his throat and question him for hours, but he would never be a safe man. Never _entirely_ safe. He would have her in dangerous ways. And he would know her in essential ways that she would not know him, because that was his intelligence, that was his genius. _He knew her_.

And she would submit, utterly, to a dangerous man ...

She had tried it with other men after Everett. She had tried submission. The kingdom was full of suitable and toothsome men. But there was always a deference, a restraint, an almost timid checking to make sure they were doing it right.

And then she had tried it with men in other countries, and that was worse. There were some men who seemed to think her desires proved something to them that they'd suspected - that she wasn't the genius, wasn't the royal, but just a common slut who wanted them to be routinely selfish. How she had learned to hate the sly, knowing look that demonstrated how completely they misjudged her. They wanted to reduce her, to soften her, to dumb her down.

Everett had never done that to her. He had been hateful, he had been angry, but he had never lost sight of who she was. Shuri was confident that he knew who she was, and that he adored who she was. Losing her made him furious because he knew how much they needed each other.

Her mistake had been in underestimating _him_ , the way those foreign men underestimated _her_. She had wanted to make him less than he was, because otherwise it would be too painful to lose him. Other men thought they knew what she wanted. Everett genuinely knew. And so when she wanted to go home, he sent her, because he knew she would break her heart as an exile. And he didn't want to be responsible for that heartbreak. He didn't want to see her evaluate her choice and find it wanting. Let her accept him from a place of power.

She laughed again. And let her accept her powerlessness from a place of power, too. Absurd. Utterly absurd. Maybe this was love, after all, for her, for Everett - mad, absurd love.

* * *

He missed her in his bed. He curled up where she'd lain, breathed her scent, and actually kissed the sheet. Crazy.

They must both be crazy.

There were times he worried, these past three years; times he actually broke into a cold sweat, fearing that he'd raped her in Budapest. And then he'd remember watching her train with the Dora one morning, after their Wakandan wedding and before their trip to Vienna. He didn't doubt that he'd have his ass handed to him, should he ever be foolish enough to go up against her in earnest.

No. He'd been angry and drunk, and she'd been afraid and drunk, and they'd played out a scene which would have been better played out sober. And in the process, he'd discovered her secrets - that she liked it rough. That she liked it to scare her.

He liked to be rough with her. He liked to frighten her.

He wondered how she dealt with that. He imagined an uncomfortable tension between desire and shame. Considering her brains, her wealth, and her physical strength, she might well be the most powerful woman in the world. And she would know it, too. So how could the most powerful woman in the world cope with the desire to be utterly helpless at the hands of a lover who was - Everett admitted it, though he did so ruefully - in every way inferior to her?

She must be crazy. They both must be crazy.

But he, especially, for sending her to bed untouched.


	20. Fan Mail

The next morning, Shuri bathed, put on a comfortable (but chic, always chic) dress, and loosened her braids from the vibranium wires that bound them. She shook her head, then flipped her braids back, and smiled at her reflection. He was here. He was really here.

She slipped her Kimoyo bead bracelet onto her wrist and called up Tilleli. "I need you to clear my calendar for the rest of the week."

"Only the rest of the week? I have consulted with top scientists, and they assure me that the world will not collapse if you take an actual vacation. You, on the other hand, most certainly _will_ collapse if you don't."

"Yes, yes. I am a fragile flower. However, you have forgotten that I am the top of the top scientists. Once you've cleared my calendar, go somewhere and play. You have earned it a thousand times over."

"I will not say no!"

Thus freed, Shuri made her way to Everett's room and knocked. He answered, dressed in jeans and a grey T-shirt, barefoot, with a toothbrush in his mouth. Shuri kissed his cheek. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Not yet. I was waiting for you," he mumbled around the toothbrush. "Hold on a sec."

He ambled to the bathroom, spat, rinsed, spat. When he returned, he gave her a minty kiss. "You look gorgeous. Too gorgeous. You've got the glow of a satisfied woman. Were you a good girl last night?"

Indignant, she said, "Naturally."

"Then why the glow?"

"Because you are here." Her voice dropped. "And because _you_ are here."

He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her. He brushed an invisible hair off her forehead, then slid his hand to the back of her neck. His grip tightened as he pulled her toward him.

"As long as you want me, Prisoner."

A shiver ran through her body. She had no obligations. They could order food brought to them when they got hungry. T'Challa and Tafsut could discuss their ideas with Everett some other time. Surely they could have one day to themselves?

Something shifted in Everett's face and body. His grip relaxed. He kissed her on the forehead, right on her cresent-moon scar. "Breakfast, Shuri. We can't skip the most important meal of the day."

* * *

She took him to one of the smaller rooftop gardens, where they were brought fresh fruit, cold roasted meat, a stack of flatbreads, and a large pot of coffee. Everett ate with the appetite of a young man, abundantly and with gusto. His eyes took in the garden, the cityscape that rose and fell in all its architectural eclecticism, with the same hungry abandon. And Shuri, who followed his wandering attention, felt as if she were seeing her own world for the first time. Indeed, aside from a few specific and famous buildings, there were many whose functions and provenance she simply didn't know.

"All that time in your lab," Everett said.

"I cannot know everything," Shuri conceded.

"Don't ever admit that to the press."

"You are joking, are you not?"

"A bit. But the most influential woman in the world needs to be careful."

"Am I?"

"Of course you are. Probably the most loved, too. And I hate to say it, but possibly the most hated."

Shuri looked at him in wonder.

"What? That's seriously never occurred to you before?"

"My mind was on other things." She knew Tilleli had a small staff who screened her correspondence, taking out the hate mail, assessing it for actual credible threats.

"But what about love letters?" Everett asked. "What about cards from hero-worshipping kids? What about gifts?"

"I don't know." Shuri set down her coffee and called up Tilleli, who looked more harried than usual. "You are still working?"

"It takes more than a minute to clear your calendar," Tilleli said, a trifle defensively.

"Do people send me gifts?"

Tilleli looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Of _course_ people send you gifts. I have told you a thousand times."

"My mind was on more important things."

"More important than fan mail?" Everett said.

"Oh, please. Where is my fan mail, Tilleli?"

"We have a room for it in the palace, in the basement."

"A _room_?" Shuri exclaimed.

"One for mail, one for gifts. Come to your office and I'll take you down and show you."

She and Everett were satisfied with breakfast, so they went down together. Tilleli and Everett were introduced to each other with hasty formality, though they winked at each other when Shuri's back was turned. They all went into the lowest level of the palace, and Tilleli ushered them into a room near bursting with plushies, hand-knit items, dolls, jewelry, and other gifts. Shuri, stunned, then followed her to the next-door room that warehoused the letters, cards, and drawings.

"Great Bast! So _much_?"

"Told you," said Tilleli.

"Told you," said Everett.

"I am - I cannot - How do we _handle_ these?"

"We don't. I have only enough staff to screen them, none to respond to them."

Shuri thoughtfully chewed her lower lip. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said, " _I_ will respond."

" _What_?"

"Yes. I will respond to every single one, personally. I will take that vacation, Tilleli. Clear my calendar for the next, um, three months."

"I do not know if you can go through all this in three months. And that is hardly what I would call a vacation."

"I will try. Everett, the coffee house on Bright Street - I will make your coffee house my office, and I will respond to every single one of these."

"I can foresee a fierce case of writer's cramp in your future. Besides, if I'm supposed to do intelligence work in the coffee house, won't it put a damper on the proceedings if people know the Princess of Wakanda is at the next table?"

"I will wear big sunglasses."

"Oh, that'll work."

"Are you being sarcastic with me?"

"Yes."

"Good," said Tilleli. "Be sarcastic with her. Often. Otherwise she will think she is being reasonable."

"I am always reasonable," said Shuri.


	21. Conditions

T'Challa summoned them shortly after. As they walked to the throne room, Shuri said, gesturing excitedly, "Do you not see how perfect it is? We will each have a challenge for the next three months, and we will be together to support and encourage each other. Besides, think of what a wonderful lesson it will be in emotional intelligence - of which, you must admit, I am in desperate need."

Everett laughed. "Look at you, making all this up on the fly. You've got it all figured out, haven't you? You even sound as if you've convinced yourself."

"I have not. Not _yet_. Not _quite_. But I am trying as hard and as fast as I can. You do not know all the conferences and the meetings and the openings I will be bunking - not to mention my lab work. My heart is pounding and I am sweating as if I had swallowed a gallon of espresso. I honestly had less adrenaline during the battle of Mt. Bashenga."

"And all for the sake of a little fan mail."

"No, no, no. All for the sake of spending my days with you. And a little fan mail. I'll need a corner of your coffee house, of course."

"We haven't even seen my coffee house yet. For all we know, it has no corners. It might be perfectly round."

They entered the throne room, where T'Challa, Nakia, Ramonda, and the elders were gathered. M'Baku was conspicuous by his absence. As Shuri later learned, he had left at first light for Jabari Land, in order to break the bad news to and console his lovestruck son. After greetings and minor pleasantries, T'Challa spoke seriously.

"We will be as brief as possible. Princess Tafsut, as the spokesperson of the Tribal Council, will take the lead. Princess?"

Tafsut cleared her throat and gripped her walking stick. The lightening of the skin around her knuckles gave evidence to the strength of her hands.

"The Tribal Council will accept the continued residence of Mr. Everett K. Ross on the following conditions. One, that he is not allowed access to Princess Shuri's lab, private office, or the private offices of any of the Royal family. Two, that he is not allowed access to any meetings save for those in direct connection with his intelligence work for King T'Challa. Three, that he is granted three months' time to revive the cafe in Bright Street and make it a financial success. Four, that during those three months he is to provide King T'Challa and the Tribal Council with intelligence gleaned from customers of the cafe. And five, that during those three months he reside with me in my villa in Birnin Zana."

"Wait, what?" said Everett.

"Excuse me?" said Shuri.

"Do you not remember our discussion over chocolate?" Tafsut asked Shuri, clearly relishing her bombshell and the consternation it had caused.

"What discussion?" Everett asked.

Shuri ignored him. "I - I didn't mean for him to _live_ with you!"

"If you do not like these conditions, I am certain we can find a seat for Mr. Ross on the next flight to Berlin."

"I accept," Everett said. "I'll abide by all the conditions."

Tafsut squinted at him. "But?"

Everett smiled. "But. I have conditions of my own. One, that Princess Shuri be allowed to spend her days in my coffee house, answering correspondence. Two, that I be allowed to purchase and import the exact equipment and furniture that I've got in my coffee house in Budapest."

"And who is to pay for that?" asked Malazo.

"Don't worry. I'll pay for it. And three, that my people be allowed to come here and work for me."

"More foreigners? What is wrong with hiring Wakandans?" asked Negasi.

"Nothing, if I have all the time in the world. But if all I've got is three months, I don't want to waste any time training new people. Even if they've had experience working in a coffee house, they haven't had experience working for _me_. I need Magda and Jo."

"And you believe they would be willing to drop everything on short notice just to help you out?" Negasi said, clearly skeptical.

"Are you kidding me? For the opportunity to spend three months in Wakanda? Prince W'Kabei, how long is it, again, that wait for tourist visas? And that's a lottery system, too, right?"

"That is correct." W'Kabei looked somewhat placated, and Shuri mentally congratulated Everett on intuiting that the Border Tribe was in charge of immigration and visas. "The wait is six months for preferred professions. It is much longer for tourists."

"Trust me, they'll come. Now, if we're agreed on everybody's conditions, how about I get a look at my new coffee house?"


	22. The Cafe

Birnin Zana was home to a robust and eclectic central market district, as well as a handful of smaller markets; a garment district, a theatre district, a government district; a neighborhood of galleries and artists' studios; a university and two colleges, each with its own thriving community and businesses; and a network of parks and green spaces that put other cities to shame. Residences weren't segregated from the centers of business and art, but wound and intermingled throughout the city like an urban planner's pipe-dream.

So how Bright Street came to be the sad, one-block alley it was, hidden beneath an overpass on the banks of the river, was anybody's guess. It was named ironically, because it was always in shadow, except for the reflections of the river that danced listlessly on the building fronts during certain hours of the day. It was home to several warehouses, a live/work space for a trio of artists too young, too independent, and too gloomy for the central artists' district, and the Bright Street Cafe. The latter, formerly run by an uninspired great-nephew of Princess Tafsut, was so unrelentingly mediocre in decor and food that even the warehouse workers and the gloomy artists avoided it. Said great-nephew, whose ambition was to work on a rhino ranch, had gone out of his way to fail at the cafe business. Dark interior, dark furniture, dim lights, lukewarm food - those were his tickets out from under his domineering great-aunt. When she finally gave him permission to pack it in, he'd been off to the Border Tribe so quickly he hadn't even turned off the OPEN sign.

Turning it off was the first thing Everett did upon entering the cafe. The second thing he did was kiss Shuri. "I love you, darling, but there is no way in hell I can do anything with this mess."

"At least it has corners," Shuri said seriously.

They stared at each other, then snorted with laughter.

"A good businessman can make it thrive," said Tafsut.

"But why? Why even bother? Everything about it is horrible! Tear it down and be done with it," said Shuri.

"I will not."

"Has it sentimental value to you?"

"I am not prey to sentiment. I simply hate to see a property go to waste."

"I can swing it," Everett said, abruptly and unexpectedly. "It may take a month to get it ready to open, but I can swing it. There's something about it being under a bridge. It's a bit sleazy, but more secretive. It's almost literally a hole in the wall. I'll make it a hip hole in the wall. Trust me. Both of you. But everything in here has got to go. Anybody got a pad of paper?"

Shuri and Tafsut looked at each other. Tafsut reached into a pocket and pulled out a bracelet of Kimoyo beads, and handed them to Everett. "I thought you might want these," she said.

Shuri did a double-take. "A _child's_ set of beads? A _child's_?"

"It has what he needs ... a documents function, communications, maps and global positioning, and entertainment."

"It's a _child's_ set of beads," Shuri repeated stubbornly.

Everett, undaunted, slipped the beads over his right wrist and thanked Tafsut for her gift. "How do I create a document?"

Shuri showed him, and he stalked through the cafe, taking notes, muttering, looking engaged and excited and annoyed all at once. Tafsut watched him, and Shuri watched her watch him. She thought Tafsut's expression was not negative, but curious, amused, and almost fond.

"What the hell is this thing?" Everett shouted from the kitchen. "And is it supposed to be oozing green slime?"

* * *

Magda answered her cell phone with a frosty "Hello, Pityuka." The diminutive of Istvan was what she called him when she was particularly annoyed by him. "How is your Wakanda vacation?"

"What's the matter?"

She sighed. "Men. Men are coming in. They are asking questions. The questions are about you, and they are not nice questions. Pityuka, we knew you weren't strictly on the up and up, but just how much on the down and down are you?"

"I don't think that's a phrase," Everett said.

"It ought to be."

"Have they threatened you?"

"Basically, yes. We say you are in Wakanda. We say that is what we know. They swear at us. They promise we'll be sorry. We already _are_ sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry, Magda. I didn't expect this. But I've got an opportunity for the two of you to get out of town for a while."

"And do what, exactly?"

"Work for me. In Wakanda."

The silence at the other end stretched.

"Magda?"

More silence.

"Magda, is everything -"

"Jo, come talk to Pityuka before I throw the hand-phone into the street."

After a brief pause, a breathless voice with a heavy Chandigarh accent said "Isti Uncle, things are not going well here. This isn't a good time to tease Magda."

"I'm not teasing."

"Yaar, he says he isn't teasing."

Magda swore in Hungarian, then added, "Then he can send one of those space ships to pick us up tonight. Then I will believe him."

"I'll do it. Close up the shop, pack whatever you'll need for three months, and I promise you, you'll be in Wakanda tonight."

"And then what?"

"And then we'll open the Birnin Zana branch of Amerikai Kave."

* * *

Belatedly, he asked Shuri if she could send a Royal Talon for the two women.

"Are they pretty?" Shuri asked. "Magda and Jo?"

"Very pretty. Maga is tall and willowy, with red hair down to her waist. Jo is a former Miss Chandigarh, and she looks a lot like Rani Mukerji. But if it will cheer you up at all, they're also very gay, and very much a couple."

"Oh!" Shuri said, greatly cheered up. "In that case, of course."


	23. The Girls

Big eyed and breathy, Jo had a Marilyn Monroe innocence to her that made everyone who met her feel instantly protective. She favored tight jeans and tank tops that emphasized her round bust and bottom, and, perhaps as a reaction to too much time spent on the Indian pageant circuit, eschewed all cosmetics save kajal and lip gloss. Magda, who stood six foot one in her stocking feet, prized above all her possessions a pair of counterfeit Lucchese cowboy boots which bumped her up to six foot three, and which she wore paired with short ditsy-print dresses and carefully-ripped black fishnets. She kept her thick, waist-length strawberry blonde hair in a single braid, which could be a painful weapon if she swung around too quickly. She chewed bubble gum nearly constantly and would respond to stupid remarks about her height with w hat Everett called the Magda Death-Stare and a slowly-blown, carefully popped bubble.

They had met in Florence, where Magda was studying to be a barista and Jo, who was an artist, was taking in the museums. It was love at first sight, and they had been inseparable ever since. They had worked for Everett for nearly three years, and, aside from his mother, were the closest to family that he had. They, in turn, were devoted to Everett. And if they suspected that he spent a bit too much time imagining what they did together in bed (he did), well, he was a straight man, after all. He'd never been fresh with them in word or deed, so certain allowances could be made. But they couldn't understand why he was single.

It was decided that the two women would stay at the palace until an apartment could be found for them. Magnanimously, Tafsut said that Everett might stay at the palace one more day to see his people settled. But she expected him at her villa the following evening, bags in hand.

Everett and Shuri met the Talon when it landed in the palace courtyard. The two women got off, stumbling, bumping into each other, as their heads turned back and forth to take everything in.

"Welcome to Birnin Zana," said Shuri, going to greet them and shaking their hands. "I am Princess Shuri."

Eyes wide, Jo and Magda turned to each other. Then they returned their attention to Shuri and simultaneously dropped a pair of awkward curtsies.

Shuri laughed cheerfully. "No need for that. I am quite informal, as I am certain you will discover. Am I not, Everett?"

"Everett," they mouthed to each other. Then Magda made the connection.

"Pityuka!" she cried. "You're that _guy_! You're that CIA guy who married the princess."

"Hai Allah!" Jo said. "I remember that. You were married for a week? Two weeks?"

"I can't believe it. You're that _guy_. You're _that_ guy! No wonder the men! No wonder the questions!"

"It's so nice that you two can still be friends after the divorce," Jo said breathily.

"Let us go somewhere comfortable to talk," said Shuri. "I am certain Everett has a lot of explaining to do."

Magda, recovering herself, turned the Magda Death Stare on Everett. She blew a large, slow bubble and carefully popped it. "Oh, yes," she said. "I, too, am certain."

* * *

After a full briefing, both of Everett's past and of the two challenges he currently faced; after Magda and Jo were tucked away in a guest room; Shuri followed Everett to his room and lay down on his bed. He sat next to her, stroking her cheek, then lay down and pulled her into his arms.

"What do you think of the girls?" he asked.

"I like them. They clearly think the world of you, and they seem excited about the challenge."

"I'm glad _they_ are. They haven't seen the cafe yet, though. It's going to be a bear, fixing that place up. A very expensive bear."

"You do know you are married to the richest woman on earth, do you not?"

"Hmm. I suppose I am. I've got money of my own, little princess, and I'm willing to spend it to my last cent if I have to. Anyway, I've got a feeling Tafsut is done making allowances. Bringing the girls over tonight was stretching it, I could tell. She'd call foul if you bankrolled me. So why am I going to be staying with her? She clearly doesn't like me."

"She is twisting a favor I asked of her."

"Which was?"

"Discerning your character."

"Which is a euphemism for?"

"Oh!" Shuri sighed and sat up. "Damn it. If I expect honesty from you, I must be honest to you. I asked her to find out the worst about you."

"Is that all? Shuri, I could have told you that for free. In fact, I believe I did the other night, when I was high."

"Do you blame me? As far as you are concerned, I am left with some trust issues."

"No. I don't blame you. I don't blame you a bit. But I'm not going to be too happy with you if I have to read sermons to Tafsut every night and feed her pet parrot."

Shuri gave him a look. "Everett. She _is_ literate, you know. And she does not have a pet parrot."


	24. Masturbation Reality 2

"This is my last night under your roof. How should we spend it, Shuri?"

"You performed for me last night. Tonight I should perform for you."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Oh, I have a nice little trick I've been saving for you. What if I were to tell you that I could fetch myself just from kissing you? Fully clothed, just like this, and hands-free?"

"That's something you'd think I would have noticed by now, little princess."

"Ah, but as I said, I have not performed the trick for you yet. You see, if I lie on my left side like this, and arrange my legs just so, and press my thighs together, and rock a bit, as if we were gently fucking -"

"Mmm. I don't think I've ever heard you use that word before."

"As if we were dreamily, sweetly fucking, Everett. It is all in the pressure, all in the release. Friction is too sharp, too shallow. That is why I like your tongue strong on me, your hands strong on me."

"You are my perfect girl."

"Yes. I am your perfect girl. Now hush and let me kiss you until I am fetched."

* * *

"I want to touch you."

"No. Just hold me. Just kiss me."

* * *

"The way you're moving ..."

"Mm-hm ..."

"And kissing me. Oh my God."

"Hush, now. Hush and let your Shuri fetch herself. Let your Shuri fuck your mouth with hers. Let your Shuri - oh, oh Bast. Not yet. Not yet!"

"Come for me, girl. Oh, God. Yes, you fucking beauty."

"Bast oh Bast oh Bast oh Bast -"

"My perfect girl. My perfect fucking _goddess_."


	25. Cafe Counter Intelligence

Of all the tribes, the most cosmopolitan was the Merchant Tribe. By dint of trade and travel, Tribal members not infrequently took spouses from other cultures and other countries. Princess Tafsut's father had been Berber; her husband, Fulani. Though their son, Iken, had married within the tribe, their eldest daughter had married a Yoruban goldsmith, their middle daughter, Tilleli's mother. had married a Berber, and their youngest daughter had married a Tuareg Blue Man of the Desert. So it wasn't in any way odd that by birth and by inclination, Tilleli was a multi-cultured woman.

She had inherited the light gold complexion (and adopted the subtle chin tattoo) of her father's (and great-grandfather's) Berber culture. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was twisted in fine, wiry braids and studded close to the scalp with Fulani amber beads. For work, she dressed in skirt suits, meticulously tailored in Hong Kong, of tropical-weight wool highly saturated with Tuareg indigo dye. Her white silk blouses came from Paris, her sky-high patent leather pumps from Italy. Her grandmother had given her a pair of large Fulani gold earrings, but she always left them off, taking Coco Chanel's advice about accessories.

As a very young woman, Tilleli had risen through the ranks of the Wakanda Design Group. When it became clear that Shuri needed a private secretary, she applied for the position and got it handily. Any nomadic tendencies she had inherited were satisfied by the mind-boggling amounts of travel involved in the job. She was good-humored, patient, diplomatic, and an administrative genius. And she genuinely loved Shuri, despite that sometimes being a not entirely easy task.

It was particularly not easy while clearing three months of Shuri's very busy calendar. She had to placate a number of very unhappy people, though she did so with her aforementioned good humor, patience, and diplomacy. She was on the verge of rescheduling a speech at Howard University when Shuri came into her office looking almost insolently happy.

"Good morning, Tilleli! And a lovely morning it is, is it not?"

"I know what you did last night," Tilleli said.

"No you do not!" Shuri said, and gave Tilleli a fierce hug.

"I know the genre, if not the details."

"Wrong again. I am as pure as a shaman's daughter."

"Yes. I know. They are always the wildest."

"Fine. Be a skeptic. Just be sure to send over one of your interns with a big box of mail. Have we any stationery?"

"You mean of the paper variety?"

"Paper, vellum, whatever."

"You are really going through with this."

"Of course!"

"Well," said Tilleli, rising from her desk and stalking to a cabinet, "I hope it is worth the pain we will both inevitably suffer. Here - stationery. You will also want sealing wax and your signet, I take it."

"Ooh! Do I have a signet?"

"Of course you have a signet. Here. Do not lose it on pain of death."

"Yes, madam."

"This is a fountain pen. Have you ever used one before?"

"I think I will be able to figure it out."

"Matches, sealing wax, postage stamps. I do hope Mr. Ross takes a photograph."

* * *

"Mr. Ross," said Jo experimentally over breakfast. "Good morning, Mr. Ross. How are you today, Mr. Ross?"

"As for me, he is Pityuka forever," Magda grumbled. "What a trick to play on us. Do you know what the CIA does to people? We could be dancing on the bottom of the Danube in concrete slippers."

"Everett Uncle? Hmm. It just doesn't sound right, yaar."

"What doesn't sound right?" Everett sat down at the table and plucked a grape from the bunch. He popped it in his mouth and winked at Jo, who dimpled.

"Your name, Isti Uncle. Your real name, I mean."

"Just call me what you've always called me."

"Won't that be confusing?" Jo asked.

"Not to me."

"But you will go by Everett Ross here, won't you?"

"I see no reason why not. Anybody who knows me will know me. Pointless to assume an alias. And if people are looking ... they were American, weren't they?"

"Some," said Magda. "Some Információs Hivatal."

"Oh, well," he sighed. "All the more reason to make this coffee house work."

But when Everett and the two women arrived at Bright Street, Magda looked around the cafe and said, "No. Not Amerikai Kave. Not here. Have some pride."

"We'll get the same equipment. The same furniture."

"No. This place looks like State Protection Authority."

"You weren't even alive for the State Protection Authority. Hell, _I_ wasn't even alive."

"I have seen movies," said Magda darkly.

At that moment Shuri walked in with a box full of stationery. Behind her staggered an intern carrying a box of mail.

"Good morning, Magda. Good morning, Jo. Good morning, Everett. Where should we put this?" Shuri asked.

"The counter for now. Everything else is getting trashed."

"Counter it is."

Shuri perched on a stool, thanked the intern, and took out the top letter from the stack.

"You are spying again, correct?" said Magda. "You should use that. Advertise it, even."

"Hiding in plain sight?" Everett said. "Wouldn't be a first for Wakanda."

"Call it Cafe Espionage."

"Or maybe Coffee Agent," said Jo.

"Nah ... not sure about those."

Shuri tapped the countertop with her fingertips and said, absentmindedly, "Cafe Counter Intelligence." She was so involved with her letter that she didn't notice the silence that stretched out. But she did notice when Everett said, "Everybody get out of here. I'm going to make sweet, sweet love to that genius over there."

"What did I do?" Shuri asked.

"That name is perfect," said Magda.

Jo all but quivered with excitement. "I'll paint full-body portraits on that wall. James Bond. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman from _Casablanca_."

"And we'll project _Casablanca_ onto _that_ wall."

" _The Lady Vanishes_ , too," said Jo.

"Did you not hear me? You ladies vanish. I'm going to take that woman and I'm going to lay her down on the counter -"

"Do get your head in the game, Pityuka! We have much work to do."


	26. Mighty Real

While Shuri, in the company of her Dora Milaje, stayed at the coffee house, reading and answering mail, the three baristas went out into the city in search of paint and painting supplies. This took a great deal longer than might be expected, because the sheer amount of street art utterly transfixed Jo. "Here is heaven! Look! Just look at it all!" she cried, feasting on a set of murals. "And I thought Europe valued artists!"

And not just visual artists. Accompanied by a trio of drummers, two dancers reenacted the battle between T'Challa and Killmonger. Street musicians played on almost every other corner. In the marketplace, they competed with a chaotic opera of street vendors calling out their wares.

Wakanda, Everett explained, had a guaranteed income, so there weren't any starving artists (or starving _anything_ ). People were free to do what they loved. 'Bots took care of more menial tasks.

At last, Jo's raptures notwithstanding, they found a hardware store where a helpful employee gave Everett the contact info for a 'bot-powered junk-hauling service. They bought their paint and decided to save furniture- and fixture-shopping for later.

"First let's get the place cleaned out and painted," Everett said.

The junk-hauling service gave their estimate via Kimoyo bead call and the place was completely cleared out before noon.

"And now this blank canvas for Jo," Magda said.

They had chosen a dark grey paint with slate-blue undertones for all but one wall, which would be painted white and used as a movie screen. Once Shuri showed Everett how to access music, they were set.

Everett's choices reflected a penchant for 1970s disco music - Sylvester, Thelma Houston, Kool and the Gang, Diana Ross, Donna Summer - that he must have heard as a small child.

"My mother was a disco queen," he explained. "Right before she became a punk rocker."

Shuri sat on the dropcloth-covered counter - all the stools had been taken away - her mail momentarily forgotten. She watched the three co-workers painting, joking with each other, singing snippets of songs they'd clearly heard a hundred or more times, sometimes slipping into the silences of intense concentration. Everett's falsetto on "You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)" had her nearly in tears. This was a side of Everett she had never seen.

"We put the 'party' in 'work party,'" he said. "If you want to play, grab a paintbrush."

Shuri _did_ want to play. The mail could wait another day while she had the fun of painting for the first time in her life. The Dora Milaje clearly disapproved of their princess doing such menial labor. But they smiled indulgently when Zapp's "Be Alright" came on, because Magda and Jo slow-danced together, paint brushes forgotten in their hands. In other circumstances, it might have been the first dance at their wedding.

At five, Tilelli showed up to brief Shuri on her newly-cleared calendar, to marvel at the progress being made on the coffee house, and to collect Everett to take to Tafsut's home. Everett briefly protested, but Tilelli made it clear that he was expected for dinner, and that it would take him time to clean up.

Tafsut's villa was what Everett might have expected for a woman of her years. Though it had all the technological doo-dads of modern Wakandan life, it was decorated with old-fashioned simplicity - rich, warm woods in the form of masks and carved figures, and earthenware jars and vases filled with flowers, or dry herbs, pampas grass or peacock feathers. She had a number of bound books, as well, that she had collected over the years. He noticed what was probably a first edition of Amos Tutuola's _My Life in the Bush of Ghosts_.

"Forgive my lack of grandeur," she said over the dinner table, which could seat a mere eight and currently only seated two. "I no longer entertain, but delegate that task to my children and grandchildren. I eat very simply. I hope you will have no objection to plain Wakandan fare. I noticed you abstain from drink, which is well. I do not keep a wine cellar. I dine each night at six, and I will expect you to dine with me. Even if you go back to your coffee house afterward, you must give me the dinner hour. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, your Highness."

Princess Tafsut made a sound of dislike. "No, no. We are not at a reception or in a formal meeting. I suppose 'Princess' or 'Princess Tafsut' will do for you. And I will call you Mr. Ross."

Everett inclined his head.

"Now, tell me about yourself. Begin with your family."

"All right. I'm an only child, and my mother is an artist."

"Like that girl, Jo?"

"Not as good as Jo. I think my mother has spent her life trying to _be_ art, and succeeding in certain circles. We don't talk very frequently. She disapproved of my going into the Air Force. She _really_ disapproved of my going into the CIA."

"And what about your father? Is he also an artist, or was he a military man like you?"

"Beats me. My mother isn't even sure who he was."

"Oh. I beg your pardon."

"It's quite all right. I mean, it's not what I would have asked for, if anybody had bothered to ask me. The way I look at it, it's a part of my story but it doesn't define me. But if people talk about illegitimate children, I have to correct them. There are no illegitimate children, only illegitimate parents."

Tafsut smiled. "Why even that? My parents were likely not married. You perhaps do not know this, but I was adopted."

"Shuri said your father was Berber."

"My adopted father was. Perhaps my biological father was, as well. That is what I have been told. But much of Africa was still colonial at that time. And there was a World War going on."

"You mean there's a chance your father might have been a colonist?"

"Does it matter now? I was an orphan, and my adopted parents were loving and good to me. I was their daughter and their only child, as surely as if I had been born to them. My biological parentage is a part of my story, but it does not define me. You spoke well, Mr. Ross."

"Please, call me Everett."

Enunciating carefully, Tafsut said, " _Mr. Ross_."


	27. Peacocks and Hedgehogs

Everett, after giving the matter some consideration, decided that he wanted Jo to paint portraits of actual spies - all women. So Jo commenced roughing out a frieze, from the doorway to the counter, of Harriet Tubman, Mata Hari, Josephine Baker, Noor Inayat Khan, Virginia Hall, Nancy Wake, and Nakia (after Shuri checked with the latter to see how she felt about her portrait adorning a coffee house wall). He nixed "Casablanca," since it wasn't actually a spy movie, but decided on a rotation of "The Lady Vanishes," "The 39 Steps," "Notorious," and "The Third Man."

While Jo painted, Magda and Everett visited the various markets, sampling coffee beans, buying local fruit and preserves. Magda would bake flodni and strudel for the coffee house, and that required adapting her recipes to what was available locally. She wasn't happy about learning how to use a Wakandan-made oven, until she actually used it and got the most even baking experience of her life. Her cup of happiness ran over when the sparkling Nuova Simonelli Aurelia espresso machine arrived, though Shuri had to tinker with it for an afternoon to adapt it to Wakanda's more advanced electrical grid.

After a few days of experimentation, Magda and Everett devised a house blend that rivaled anything they had ever tasted before.

"It must be the vibranium in the soil," Everett said. "Everything tastes better."

"Why are these beans not sold abroad?" Magda demanded of the world in general. "All the awards they would win!"

In the meantime, Everett had ordered tables and chairs from a furniture market, and had bought, second-hand, an elaborately carved mahogany booth that would be reserved as Shuri's office and keep her partially isolated from the rest of the cafe. He had also commissioned Magda's brother Sandor to scour Budapest's junk stores. Sandor obliged and sent several rotary phones, manual typewriters, a reel to reel tape player, two-way radio, other flotsam of an earlier, more mechanical age. Shuri found all these machines to be fascinating and rather lovely, if entirely inefficient (especially since they were broken). Everett spent an afternoon hanging shelves on which the machines would be displayed.

As the renovation neared completion, Everett also acquired and hung flags of Wakanda, the United States, Hungary, and India. "We're all represented," he said.

One day, Tafsut came by to inspect the progress. After she had sampled some flodni, and after Jo had identified the portraits, Tafsut sat down opposite Shuri.

"How are you coming along?"

"Listen to this!" Shuri read a letter out loud, from a little girl in Cotonou who wanted to be a scientist (and a princess) just like Shuri.

"What utter nonsense!" said Tafsut. "You will be vain as a peacock if you keep reading such stuff."

"Peacocks have got every right to be vain," said Shuri.

"You are not a peacock. You are a goat. A clever goat, but a goat nonetheless. Now that one -" She nodded at Everett, who was busy talking on his phone.

"You think Everett is a peacock? My, my!"

"Hush, you insolent child! I meant to say that vanity is not one of his faults. And a good thing, too. Vanity is pathetic in even beautiful men. But in a funny-looking fellow like him ..."

"I beg your pardon! I think he is quite handsome."

"Funny-looking," Tafsut insisted. "Between the snout and the whiskers he looks like a hedgehog. He probably knows it, too. As I said, he is not vain. A touch of the dandy, but that is a different thing."

"What else have you discovered about him? What yawning faults in his character?"

"He is jealous."

"Yes."

"You knew this?"

"Yes."

"It is an unlovable trait, child."

"Quite unlovable. And ridiculous, especially since it is quite unnecessary. Since we met I have preferred him above all men of my acquaintance."

"Stop speaking like an English novel, you goat."

"But it is true, and if he does not know it, he ought to. How did you discover his jealousy?"

"Amastan stopped by for dinner the other night. Rather, he stopped by to see just who was impeding his path to your marriage bed. As our Tribe's champion, Amastan has braggadocio enough for three men, but your hedgehog made a fine showing of his bristles and his teeth."

Shuri remembered how Everett had been with Steve Rogers that night in Budapest. She shuddered. But then she realized that Everett had not been in the least prickly with her in reaction to dinner with Amastan. Perhaps he was learning?

"What else have you discovered about him?"

"He knows how to be polite to his elders and not ask too many questions," Tafsut said pointedly. "Go back to your ego-inflating correspondence. I have business to attend."

"The new moon is in a few days. Will Iken be installed in the Council soon?"

"Oh, I have decided to delay my resignation a few more months. I wish to see how this challenge plays out."

"Perhaps you are growing fond of Everett?" Shuri suggested, smiling. "You know Iken would not be soft on the question of his staying."

"Impudent goat!" Tafsut sputtered, and stalked away in high dudgeon.


End file.
